I liked to look at them, And watch the breath come out of their wide nostrils, And see their patient eyes.

Somehow I thought It gave me strength only to look at them.
And how they strained their necks against the yoke If I but spoke, or touched them with the goad! They were my friends; and when Gloyd came and told me They were all drowned, I could have drowned myself From sheer vexation; and I said as much To Gloyd and others.
MARTHA.
Do not trust John Gloyd With anything you would not have repeated.
COREY.
As I came through the woods this afternoon, Impatient at my loss, and much perplexed With all that I had heard there in the village, The yellow leaves lit up the trees about me Like an enchanted palace, and I wished I knew enough of magic or of Witchcraft To change them into gold.

Then suddenly A tree shook down some crimson leaves upon me, Like drops of blood, and in the path before me Stood Tituba the Indian, the old crone.
MARTHA.
Were you not frightened?
COREY.
No, I do not think I know the meaning of that word.

Why frightened?
I am not one of those who think the Lord Is waiting till He catches them some day In the back yard alone! What should I fear?
She started from the bushes by the path, And had a basket full of herbs and roots For some witch-broth or other,--the old hag.
MARTHA.
She has been here to-day.
COREY.
With hand outstretched She said: "Giles Corey, will you sign the Book ?" "Avaunt!" I cried: "Get thee behind me, Satan!" At which she laughed and left me.

But a voice Was whispering in my ear continually: "Self-murder is no crime.