LETTER
Dearest Lord Cromwell, Protector of England,
on this day of our Lord, May 14th 1644
I write to beseech you to make a surprise guest appearance in a
local entertainment I am arranging here in Bury Saint Edmonds. As you are
aware, I have not participated in your worthy struggles against Charles the
First and his vile Cavaliers, for I have been most pre-occupied burning the many
witches who frequent this neck of the woods. Only yesterday the locals assured
me that a cow gave birth to chickens, an omen that must surely count as the
devil's work, you must agree.
Traditionally, the dunking of suspected old
crones in the local rivers and ponds has identified witches. Those that drown
being innocent, are accorded all due pardon, while those that float are
recognized as being witches are burnt to death for public merriment as soon as
their clothes dry off in the heat of the bonfires.
However, it seems the local magistrates have
grown bored with my witch swimming game show, and I have therefore conceived a
new amusement. Ten women, who may or may not be witches, are to be locked
together in a house, watched in secret by myself and the people of the town.
Each week, one old hag will be voted out as a witch, and then burnt at the
stake as usual. The last surviving geriatric will be granted her freedom. Such
a concept will help to keep the local yokels from thinking about your
anti-royalist war too much.
Our witches alas, do not incriminate
themselves by playing with the Ojai boards or tarot packs that we leave out for
them. They mostly just cry and beg to be allowed to go home. In order to keep
audiences, more amused, I hope to spice up proceedings with guest celebrity
appearances. That is why I write to you just now, Lord Cromwell. I trust you
will attend the house at some point, if your busy battle schedule will allow
it. It may be that a suspected witch will attempt to magic away those famous
warts upon your chin, in which case she will be the next one voted out of the
house, and onto my bonfire. May I trouble you and your puritanical Roundhead
friends to pass through this way Friday next? You may, as my guest have the
privilege of igniting the flames around our losing contestant of the week
yourself.
Yours Faithfully, Matthew Hopkins, Witchfinder
General.
Arthur Chappell
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