[Widow Hutchins _comes forward, holding the cape by a corner._

_Hathorne._ Put it over your daughter's shoulders.

_Hutchins._ Oh, your worships, I pray you not! It will kill her!

_Ann._ Oh, do not! do not! It will kill me! Oh, mother, do not! Oh,
your worships! Oh, Minister Parris!

_Parris._ Why put the maid to this needless agony?

_Corwin._ Put the cape over her shoulders.

[Widow Hutchins _approaches_ Ann _hesitatingly, and throws the cape
over her shoulders._ Ann _sinks upon the floor, shrieking._

_Ann._ Take it off! Take it off! It burns! It burns! Take it off!
Have mercy! I shall die! I shall die!

_Hathorne._ Take off the cape; that is enough. Olive Corey, what
say you to this? This is the cape you gave Ann Hutchins.

_Olive._ Oh, mother! mother!

_Martha_ (_pushing forward_). Nay, I will speak again. Ye shall not
keep me from it; ye shall not send me out of the meeting-house!
(_The afflicted cry out._) Peace, or I will afflict ye in earnest!
I _will_ speak! If I be a witch, as ye say, then ye have some reason
to fear me, even ye most worshipful magistrates and ministers. It
might happen to ye even to fall upon the floor in torment, and it