_Paul._ Naught but some boys shouting, sweet.

_Olive._ 'Twas not. Oh, my father, my father!

_Paul._ Olive, thou must not stay here.

_Olive._ I must stay. Who is coming? [Paul _and_ Olive _step
aside._

_Enter second_ Messenger. Hathorne, Corwin, _and_ Parris _advance to
meet him._

_Hathorne._ How goes it now with Giles Corey?

_Messenger._ Your worship, Giles Corey hath not spoken.

_Hathorne._ What! Have they not increased the weights?

_Messenger._ They have doubled the weights, your worship.

_Parris._ I trow Satan himself hath put his shoulder under the
stones to take off the strain. [_Exit_ Messenger.

_Hathorne._ 'Tis a marvel the old tavern-brawler endures so long,
but he'll soon speak now.

_Corwin._ Hush, good master, his daughter can hear.

_Hathorne._ Let her then withdraw if it please her not. I'll
warrant he cannot bear much more; he will soon speak.