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Updated: May 3, 2025
And, as the sexton complied with her injunction, she added, "Now I must have three scalps." "Here they be, mother," replied Zachariah, uncovering a heap of mould with his spade. "Two brain-pans bleached loike snow, an the third wi' more hewr on it than ey ha' o' my own sconce. Fro' its size an shape ey should tak it to be a female. Ey ha' laid these three skulls aside fo' ye.
"If ey thought ye meant it, ey'd beat ye, sirrah. Answer me another question, ye saucy knave. Who will be luckiest, Alizon or me?" This time the cat darted away from her, and made two or three skirmishes round the room, as if gone suddenly mad. "Ey con may nowt o' that," observed Jennet, laughing.
"She is not owd enough to act for herself," said Elizabeth. "Age matters not," replied Mistress Nutter. "What mun ey do to become a witch?" asked Jennet. "You must renounce all hopes of heaven," replied Mistress Nutter, "and devote yourself to Satan. You will then be baptised in his name, and become one of his worshippers.
"It's wasted labor talking to Master Wilfrey." The tone was one of vexation. "Did ye tell him what I heard about Justice Hide and his carryings on at Newcastle?" "Ey, and I told 'im he'd never bring it off with Hide on the bench." "And what did the chiel say to it?" "'Tut, he said, says he, 'Millet is wi' 'im on the circuit, and he'll see the law's safe on treason."
"Ey ha' heerd say hoo be varry comely an kind-hearted, an ey should be sorry onny harm befell her." "Mary Baldwyn, who will soon lie there, was quite as comely and kind-hearted as Alizon," cried the hag, "and yet Mother Demdike had no pity on her." "An that's true," replied the sexton. "Weel, weel; ey'n do your bidding." "Hold!" exclaimed Richard, stepping forward.
Ey hate yo becose yung Ruchot Assheton loves yo an becose yo ha better luck i' aw things than ey have, or con expect to have. That's why I hate yo, Alizon. When yo are a witch ey shan love yo, for then we shan be equals once more." "That will never be, Jennet," said Alizon, sadly, but firmly.
O-Tar had risen and was angrily emphasizing his words with heavy blows upon the table, dealt with a golden goblet. "Ey, O-Tar, they elude thy guard but not the wise old calot, I-Gos." "What mean you? Speak!" commanded O-Tar. "I know where they are hid," said the ancient taxidermist. "In the dust of unused corridors their feet have betrayed them." "You followed them?
Tracy Stuart are often at Glenmuir; but oftener at Burleigh, where the general, I fancy, still resides. He protests that he never will keep a secret again: long may he live to say so! "Is he rich, ma'am? is he rich? ey? what what? is he rich?" Sir Thomas was a rapid little man, and quite an epicure in the use of that luscious monosyllable. "Is he rich, Lady Dillaway? ey? what?"
Ey am the boggart o' th' clough, an' if theaw bringst me out, ey'n tear thee i' pieces wi' my claws, an' cast thee into t' Ribble, so that thine own hounts shan eat thee up." "Ha! say'st thou so, master boggart," cried Nicholas. "For a spirit, thou usest the vernacular of the county fairly enough.
A feyther's deep an lasting curse leet on her guilty heoad, an on those of aw her accursed race. Nah rest, neet nor day, win ey know, till ey ha brought em to the stake." "Right right my good friend an excellent resolution bring them to the stake!" cried Potts.
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