| John Proctor: his voice about to break, and his shame great: In the proper place-where my beasts are bedded. On the last night of my joy, some eight months past. She use to serve me in my house sir. He has to clamp his jaw to keep from weeping. A man may thinks God sleeps, but God sees everything, I know it now. I beg you, sir, I beg you-see what she is. My wife, my good dear wife, took this girl soon after, sir, and put her out on the highroad. And being what she is, a lump of vanity, sir-He is being overcome. Excellency, forgive me, forgive me. Angerily against himself, he turns away from the Governor for a moment Then, as to cry out is his only means of speech left: She thinks to dance on my wife's grave! And well she might, for I thought of her softly. God help me, I lusted, and there is a promise in such sweet. But it is a whore's vengence, and you must see it; I set myself entirely in your hands. I know you must see it now. |
