With the King at Oxford: A Tale of the Great RebellionChurch, Alfred John
History
With the King at Oxford: A Tale of the Great Rebellion
Church, Alfred John
Great Britain -- History -- Civil War, 1642-1649 -- Fiction
After I began to mend I saw no more of Mistress Cicely, though I could
hear her singing about the house, for she had a very sweet and tunable
voice. There waited on me a very decent widow woman from the village,
that was reckoned a notable nurse in these parts; such doubtless she
was, for I never lacked anything, but had all things served at the due
time. But she had a heavy hand, and a croaking voice, and was of a
singular doleful temper. She would sit by the hour and talk to me of
those whom she had nursed in times past, and if she mentioned one that
had died she would say like enough, "He very greatly favoured you,
sir," or "He had the same complexion as you, and I have noted that it
often goes with a consumption," or "He was of very tall stature, and
your tall men fail very suddenly." I was myself tall. As for her
readiness to believe all kinds of marvels, 'twas such as I never saw
surpassed. There was scarce a house in the country but she knew of
some ghost that walked in it, and if there was no ghost of a man, then
there was one of a dog or a cat; and as for witches, there was not a
village but had two or three. And when I doubted, she had
circumstances at hand to prove what she said. "Did not Thomas Clark at
Erpington Mill speak roughly to Alice Viner, the Erpington witch, for
picking wood in his coppice, and Alice cursed him, and said that he
should never die in his bed, and the miller, coming home from market
the very next Tuesday, fell from his horse and was killed?" "But was
the miller in liquor, think you?" I said. "Yes," said she, "and had
come home in liquor every market day for thirty years and more, and
had come to no harm till he fell out with Alice." That witches may be,
I do not doubt, for does not Scripture say, "Thou shalt not suffer a
witch to live;" but that many poor women have an ill-name for
witchcraft, ay, and worse than an ill-name, that have no worse faults
than a shrewish temper and a bitter tongue, I do not doubt. With such
doleful tales did Margery Marriott--for that was the good woman's
name--entertain me; and though Master Ellgood would come and sit with
me, I was right glad, when the fever having left me and, in a great
measure, the weakness also that followed it, I was quit of her
company.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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