bird perched on her head!

_Hathorne._ What say you to that, Goodwife Corey?

_Martha._ What can I say to such folly?

_Hathorne._ Constables, let go the hands of Martha Corey.

[_The_ Constables _let go her hands, and immediately there is a
great outcry from the_ Afflicted Girls.

_Afflicted Girls._ She pinches us! Hold her hands! Hold her hands
again! Oh! oh!

_Ann._ She is upon me again! She digs her fingers into my throat!
Hold her hands! Hold her hands! She will be the death of me!

_Giles._ Devil take ye, ye lying trollop! 'Tis a pity somebody had
not been the death of ye before this happened!

_Hathorne._ Constables, hold the hands of the accused.

[Constables _obey, and at once the afflicted are quiet._

_Hathorne._ Goodwife Corey, what do you say to this?

_Martha._ I see with whom we have to do. May the Lord have mercy
upon us!

_Hathorne._ What say you to the charges that your husband, Giles