Nay, she is sometimes
tortured
by convulsions.
Longfellow
No, do not let them come! I cannot bear it!
I am too weak to bear it! I am dying.
Fails into a trance.
TITUBA.
Hark! there is some one coming!
Enter HATHORNE, MATHER, and WALCOT.
WALCOT.
There she lies,
Wasted and worn by devilish incantations!
O my poor sister!
MATHER.
Is she always thus?
WALCOT.
Nay, she is sometimes tortured by convulsions.
MATHER.
Poor child! How thin she is! How wan and wasted!
HATHORNE.
Observe her. She is troubled in her sleep.
MATHER.
Some fearful vision haunts her.
HATHORNE.
You now see
With your own eyes, and touch with your own hands,
The mysteries of this Witchcraft.
MATHER.
One would need
The hands of Briareus and the eyes of Argus
To see and touch them all.
HATHORNE.
You now have entered
The realm of ghosts and phantoms,--the vast realm
Of the unknown and the invisible,
Through whose wide-open gates there blows a wind
From the dark valley of the shadow of Death,
That freezes us with horror.
