"The clock was a-striking, a-striking of one. The witches came out, and the dancing begun. They courtesied so fine, and they drank the red wine-- The wizards were three and the witches were nine. To my down, down, down, derry down. "Halloo, the gay dancers! Halloo, I was one; The goody that prayed and the maiden that spun! The yellow birds chirped in the boughs overhead, And fast through the bushes the black dog sped. To my down, down, down, derry down." [_A noise is heard._ Phoebe _jumps down from the table._ _Phoebe._ Oh, Nancy, something's coming! Run, run quick, or it 'll catch us! [_Both run out. Curtain falls._ Act II. _Best room in the house of_ Widow Eunice Hutchins, Ann's _mother._ John Hathorne _and_ Minister Parris _enter, shown in by_ Widow Hutchins. _Hutchins._ I pray you, sirs, to take some cheers the while I go for a moment's space to my poor afflicted child. I heard her cry out but now. [_Exit._ [Hathorne _and_ Parris _seat themselves, but_ Hathorne _quickly springs up, and begins walking._ _Hathorne._ I cannot be seated in this crisis. I would as lief be seated in an onset of the savages. I must up and lay about me. We have heretofore been too lax in this dreadful business; the powers of darkness be almost over our palisades. I tell thee there must be more action! _Parris_ (_pounding with his cane_). Yea, Master Hathorne, I am with thee. Verily, this last be enough to make the elect themselves quake with fear. This Martha Corey is a woman of the covenant. _Hathorne._ There must be no holding back. The powers of darkness be let loose amongst us, and they that be against them must be up. We must hang, hang, hang, till we overcome! _Parris._ Yea, we must not falter, though all the woods of Massachusetts Bay be cut for gallows-trees, and the country be like Sodom. Verily, Satan hath manifested himself at the head of our enemies; the colonies were never in such peril as now. We must strive as never before, or all will be lost. The wilderness full of malignant savages, who be the veritable servants of Satan, closes us in, and the cloven footmark is in our midst. There must be no dallying as we would save the colonies. Widow Hutchins saith her daughter is grievously pressed. (_A scream._) There, heard you that? _Hathorne._ It is dreadful, dreadful, that an innocent maid should be so tormented by acts which her guileless fancy could never compass! _Parris._ Verily, malignity hath ever cowardice in conjunction with it. Satan loveth best to afflict those who can make no defence, and fastens his talons first in the lambs. _Enter_ Widow Hutchins _with the embroidered cape._ _Hutchins._ Here, your worships, is the cape. _Hathorne_ (_examines it_). I have seen women folk wear its like on the Sabbath day. I can see naught unwonted about it. _Parris._ It looketh like any cape.