Giles Corey, Yeoman

Giles Corey, Yeoman

Project Gutenberg's Giles Corey, Yeoman, by Mary E. Wilkins Freeman This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Giles Corey, Yeoman A Play
Author: Mary E. Wilkins Freeman
Release Date: March 10, 2006 [EBook #17960]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
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Produced by Jeff Kaylin and Andrew Sly

Giles Corey, Yeoman
A Play
By Mary E. Wilkins
Illustrated
New York Harper & Brothers Publishers 1893

Cast of Characters.
Giles Corey. Paul Bayley, Olive Corey's lover. Samuel Parris, minister in Salem Village. John Hathorne, magistrate. Jonathan Corwin, magistrate. Olive Corey, Giles Corey's daughter. Martha Corey, Giles Corey's wife. Ann Hutchins, Olive's friend and one of the Afflicted Girls. Widow Eunice Hutchins, Ann's mother. Phoebe Morse, little orphan girl, niece to Martha Corey. Mercy Lewis, one of the Afflicted Girls. Nancy Fox, an old serving-woman in Giles Corey's house. _Afflicted Girls, Constables, Marshal, People of Salem Village, Messengers, etc._

Act I.
Scene I.--Salem Village. Living-room in Giles Corey's house. Olive Corey is spinning. Nancy Fox, _the old servant, sits in the fireplace paring apples. Little Phoebe Morse, on a stool beside her, is knitting a stocking._
Phoebe (starting). What is that? Oh, Olive, what is that?
Nancy. Yes, what is that? Massy, what a clatter!
Olive (spinning). I heard naught. Be not so foolish, child. And you, Nancy, be of a surety old enough to know better.
Nancy. I trow there was a clatter in the chimbly. There 'tis again! Massy, what a screech!
Phoebe (running to Olive and clinging to her). Oh, Olive, what is it? what is it? Don't let it catch me. Oh, Olive!
Olive. I tell you 'twas naught.
Nancy. Them that won't hear be deafer than them that's born so. Massy, what a screech!
Phoebe. Oh, Olive, Olive! Don't let 'em catch me!
Olive. Nobody wants to catch you. Be quiet now, and I'll sing to you. Then you won't think you hear screeches.
Nancy. We won't, hey?
Olive. Be quiet! This folly hath gone too far. [_Sings spinning song._
SPINNING SONG.
"I'll tell you a story; a story of one, 'Twas of a great prince whose name was King John. A great prince was he, and a man of great might In putting down wrong and in setting up right. To my down, down, down, derry down."
Nancy. Massy, what screeches! [Screams violently.
Phoebe. Oh, Nancy, 'twas you screeched then.
Nancy. It wasn't me; 'twas a witch in the chimbly. (_Screams again._) There, hear that, will ye? I tell ye 'twa'n't me. I 'ain't opened my mouth.
Olive. Nancy, I will bear no more of this. If you be not quiet, I will tell my mother when she comes home. Now, Phoebe, sing the rest of the song with me, and think no more of such folly. [Sings with Phoebe.
"This king, being a mind to make himself merry, He sent for the Bishop of Canterbury. 'Good-morning, Mr. Bishop,' the king did say. 'Have you come here for to live or to die?' To my down, down, down, derry down.
"'For if you can't answer to my questions three, Your head shall be taken from your body; And if you can't answer unto them all right, Your head shall be taken from your body quite.' To my down, down, down, derry down."
Nancy (wagging her head in time to the music). I know some words that go better with that tune.
Phoebe. What are they?
Nancy. Oh, I'm forbid to tell.
Phoebe. Who forbade you to tell, Nancy?
Nancy. The one who forbade me to tell, forbade me to tell who told me.
Olive. Don't gossip, or you won't get your stints done before mother comes home.
Phoebe (sulkily). I won't finish my stint. Aunt Corey set me too long a stint. I won't. Oh, there she is now! [Knits busily.
Enter Ann Hutchins.
Olive (rising). Well done, Ann. I was but now wishing to see you. Sit you down and lay off your cloak. Why, how pale you look, Ann! Are you sick?
Ann. You know best.
Olive. I? Why, what mean you, Ann?
Ann. You know what I mean, in spite of your innocent looks. Oh, open your eyes wide at me, if you want to! Perhaps you don't know what makes them bigger and bluer than they used to be.
Olive. Ann!
Ann. Oh, I mean nothing. I am not sick. Something frightened me as I came through the wood.
Olive. Frightened you! Why, what was it?
Phoebe. Oh, what was it, Ann?
Ann. I know not; something black that hustled quickly by me and raised a cold wind.
Phoebe. Oh, oh!
Olive. 'Twas a cat or a dog, and your own fear raised the cold wind. Think no more of it, Ann. Wait a moment while I go to the north room. I have something to