The Witch:

A DRAMATIC SKETCH OF THE SEVENTEENTH CENTURY.

[This "solemnly fantastic poem," as Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd calls it, first appeared in the 1818 edition of Charles Lamb's Collected Works. It is demonstrated by Mr. Carew Hazlitt in his volume of 1874, entitled" Charles and Mary Lamb: Poems, Letters, and Remains, now first collected, with Reminiscences and Notes," to have been originally an integral portion of the tragedy of John Woodvil, from which it was probably eliminated when that drama was for a second time submitted to Kemble's consideration.]

CHARACTERS.

Old Servant in the Family of SIR FRANCIS FAIRFORD. STranger.

Servant. One summer night Sir Francis, as it chanced,

Was pacing to and fro in the avenue

That westward fronts our house,

Among those agèd oaks, said to have been planted

Three hundred years ago

By a neighbouring prior of the Fairford name.
Being o'ertask'd in thought, he heeded not

The importunate suit of one who stood by the gate,
And begg'd an alms.

Some say he shoved her rudely from the gate
With angry chiding; but I can never think
(Our master's nature hath a sweetness in it)
That he could use a woman, an old woman,
With such discourtesy: but he refused her-
And better had he met a lion in his path
Than that old woman that night;

For she was one who practised the black arts,

And served the devil, being since burnt for witchcraft.

She look'd on him as one that meant to blast him,

And with a frightful noise

('Twas partly like a woman's voice,

And partly by the hissing of a snake),

She nothing said but this:

(Sir Francis told the words)

A mischief, mischief, mischief,

And a nine-times-killing curse,

By day and by night, to the caitiff wight,
Who shakes the poor like snakes from his door,
And shuts up the womb of his purse.

Str. A terrible curse! What follow'd?

Serv. Nothing immediate, but some two months after Young Philip Fairford suddenly fell sick,

And none could tell what ail'd him; for he lay,

And pined, and pined, till all his hair fell off,

And he, that was full-flesh'd, became as thin

As a two-months' babe that had been starved in the nursing.

And sure I think

He bore his death-wound like a little child;

With such rare sweetness of dumb melancholy

He strove to clothe his agony in smiles,

Which he would force up in his poor pale cheeks,

Like ill-timed guests that had no proper dwelling there;

And, when they ask'd him his complaint, he laid

His hand upon his heart to show the place,

Where Susan came to him a-nights, he said,

And prick'd him with a pin.

And thereupon Sir Francis call'd to mind

The beggar-witch that stood by the gateway
And begged an alms.

Str. But did the witch confess?

Serv. All this and more at her death.

Str. I do not love to credit tales of magic.

Heaven's music, which is Order, seems unstrung,
And this brave world

(The Mystery of God) unbeautified,

Disorder'd, marr'd, where such strange things are acted.

Mr. H―:

A FARCE IN TWO ACTS.

As it was performed at Drury Lane Theatre, 10th December, 1806.

[Prefixed to every edition yet published of this whimsical farce, there has been printed, in obedience to the author's directions, the excellent account which will be found given, immediately after this bracketed note, proclaiming to the world, as if by the flourish of a tin trumpet, the fact that Mr. H was damned! One could almost fancy that Charles Lamb himself wrote this rejoicing record of his own discomfiture in the Theatrical Examiner. It accords so exactly, in the whole spirit of it, with the ludicrous story related in regard to his own conduct on the night of its first performance. Going into Drury Lane Theatre on the evening of that Wednesday, the 10th of December, 1806, to witness, as he had fondly hoped, his own triumph, Charles Lamb-thus runs the legendfound himself so entirely of opinion with the audience, as the piece went on, that from his place in the middle of the pit, he was conspicuous among the very heartiest in hissing it off the stage. Even that "joyousest of once embodied spirits," Robert William Elliston, who was the hero of the farce, although assisted by Miss Mellon, afterwards the Duchess of St. Albans, by Bartley, and by Wewitzer, failed to carry off the intrinsic absurdity of the reticent H whose surname turned out to be after all only Hogsflesh. Doomed to damnation though it was in England, Mr. H, it ought here to be added, has often been performed in the United States, not merely with applause, but with shouts of laughter.] "Mr. H-› thou wert DAMNED. Bright shone the morning on the play-bills that announced thy appearance, and the streets were filled with the buzz of persons asking one another if they would go to see Mr. H, and answering that they would certainly; but before night the gaiety, not of the author, but of his friends and the town, was eclipsed, for thou wert DAMNED! Hadst thou been anonymous, thou haply mightst have lived. But thou didst come to an untimely end for thy tricks, and for want of a better name to pass them off."-Theatrical Examiner.

GENTLEMEN, LADIES, WAITERS, SERVANTS, &c.

SCENE.-Bath.

PROLOGUE.

SPOKEN BY MR. ELLISTON.

Mr. Bartley.

Mr. Wewitzer.
Miss Mellon.

Mrs. Harlowe.

IF we have sinn'd in paring down a name,
All civil well-bred authors do the same,
Survey the columns of our daily writers-
You'll find that some Initials are great fighters.
How fierce the shock, how fatal is the jar,
When Ensign W. meets Lieutenant R.

With two stout seconds, just of their own gizzard,
Cross Captain X. and rough old General Izzard!
Letter to letter spreads the dire alarms,
Till half the Alphabet is up in arms.
Nor with less lustre have Initials shone,
To grace the gentler annals of crim. con.
Where the dispensers of the public lash
Soft penance give-a letter and a dash
Where vice reduced in size shrinks to a failing,
And loses half her grossness by curtailing.
Faux pas are told in such a modest way,-
The affair of Colonel B- with Mrs. A-
You must forgive them-for what is there, say,
Which such a pliant Vowel must not grant
To such a very pressing Consonant?
Or who poetic justice dares dispute,
When, mildly melting at a lover's suit,
The wife's a Liquid, her good man a Mute?
Even in the homelier scenes of honest life,
The coarse-spun intercourse of man and wife,
Initials I am told have taken place

Of Deary, Spouse, and that old-fashion'd race;
And Cabbage, ask'd by Brother Snip to tea,
Replies, "I'll come-but it don't rest with me-
I always leaves them things to Mrs. C."
O should this mincing fashion ever spread
From names of living heroes to the dead,

How would Ambition sigh, and hang the head,
As each loved syllable should melt away-

Her Alexander turn'd into Great A.

A single C. her Cæsar to express

Her Scipio shrunk into a Roman S. ;—

And, nick'd and dock'd to these new modes of speech,

Great Hannibal himself a Mr. H.

ACT I.

SCENE.-A Public Room in an Inn-Landlord, Waiters, Gentlemen, &c. Enter MR. H.

Mr. H. Landlord, has the man brought home my boots?

Land. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. You have paid him?

Land. There is the receipt, sir, only not quite filled up; no name, only blank Blank, Dr. to Zekiel Spanish for one pair of best hessians." Now, sir, he wishes to know what name he shall put in-who he shall say "Dr."

Mr. H. Why, Mr. H, to be sure.

Land. So I told him, sir; but Zekiel has some qualms about it. He says, he thinks that Mr. H. only would not stand good in law.

Mr. H. Rot his impertinence! bid him put in Nebuchadnezzar, and not trouble me with his scruples.

Land. I shall, sir.

Enter a Waiter.

[Exit.

Wait. Sir, Squire Level's man is below, with a hare and a brace of pheasants for Mr. H.

Mr. H. Give the man half-a-crown, and bid him return my best respects

to his master.

name.

Presents, it seems, will find me out, with any name, or no
Enter and Waiter.

2nd Wait. Sir, the man that makes up the Directory is at the door. Mr. H. Give him a shilling; that is what these fellows come for. 2nd Wait. He has sent up to know by what name your Honour will please to be inserted.

Mr. H. Zounds, fellow! I give him a shilling for leaving out my name, not for putting it in. This is one of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous. [Exit and Waiter.

Enter 3rd Waiter.

[Exit.

3rd Wait. Two letters for Mr. H. Mr. H. From ladies (opens them). This from Melesinda, to remind me of the morning call I promised; the pretty creature positively languishes to be made Mrs. H. I believe I must indulge her (affectedly). This from her cousin, to bespeak me to some party, I suppose (opening it)—Oh, this evening"-"Tea and cards"-(surveying himself with complacency). Dear

H., thou art certainly a pretty fellow. I wonder what makes thee such a favourite among the ladies: I wish it may not be owing to the concealment of thy unfortunate-pshaw !

Enter 4th Waiter.

4th Wait. Sir, one Mr. Printagain is inquiring for you.

Mr. H. Oh, I remember, the poet: he is publishing by subscription. Give him a guinea, and tell him he may put me down.

4th Wait. What name shall I tell him, sir?

Mr. H. Zounds! he is a poet; let him fancy a name.

Enter 5th Waiter.

[Exit 4th Waiter.

5th Wait. Sir, Bartlemy the lame beggar, that you sent a private donation to last Monday, has by some accident discovered his benefactor, and is at the door waiting to return thanks.

Mr. H. Oh, poor fellow, who could put it into his head? Now I shall be teased by all his tribe, when once this is known. Well, tell him I am glad I could be of any service to him, and send him away.

5th Wait. I would have done so, sir; but the object of his call now, he says, is only to know who he is obliged to.

Mr. H. Why, me.

5th Wait. Yes, sir.

Mr. H. Me, me, me-who else, to be sure?

5th Wait. Yes, sir; but he is anxious to know the name of his benefactor. Mr. H. Here is a pampered rogue of a beggar, that cannot be obliged to a gentleman in the way of his profession, but he must know the name, birth, parentage, and education of his benefactor. I warrant you, next he will require a certificate of one's good behaviour, and a magistrate's licence in one's pocket, lawfully empowering So-and-so to- -give an alms. Anything

more?

5th Wait. Yes, sir: here has been Mr. Patriot, with the county petition to sign; and Mr. Failtime, that owes so much money, has sent to remind you of your promise to bail him.

Here is more

Mr. H. Neither of which I can do while I have no name. of the plaguy comforts of going anonymous, that one can neither serve one's friend nor one's country. Damn it, a man had better be without a nose than without a name ! I will not live long in this mutilated, dismembered state; I will to Melesinda this instant, and try to forget these vexations. Melesinda!