Remorse of a Servant Girl

April 11, 1692

It all started as a game
This tale of madness I mean
Peaceful life was getting lame
So we girls went out for a little sin
Oh how fun, yes, how fun it was.

Around a cauldron it took place
While Tituba chanted in a strange tongue
So much fun I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face
They said it was okay, what could possibly go wrong?
A lot did, but that I’ll tell you later.

Most of the time I didn’t do much
But that doesn’t mean it wasn’t exciting
I could look, hear, smell, taste and touch
And my adventurous side to it got a liking
Oh how fun, yes, how fun it was.

It would hurt no one to have a little fun
Doing the wrong thing felt so right
While in the dark to dance, to laugh, to run
And indeed we did a lot of running that night
For our secret wasn’t so for long.

But before I tell how it came crumbling down
I will tell I meant no harm at all
For me it was a game, they seemed nice to be around
Much better than to be a servant doll
Oh how fun, yes, how fun it was.

The Reverend saw us around the darker lass
His daughter, Betty, fell on the grass
We ran, yes we ran
But it mattered not; we’d been seen by that man
And that’s how this story was about to begin…



April 12, 1692

How could I regret doing something so fun?
It was just a game, but they didn’t see it as such
“Witchcraft!” they cried, their fears arising
Because of something we enjoyed so much
I’m going to say, I wanted to run.

Betty was ill, she wouldn’t wake
We tried to explain, but they wouldn’t listen
They were afraid, wanted action to take
Within hours fear had risen
And regret crushed my heart.

I wanted to tell, but they didn’t let me
What we’d started filled me with regret
“You’ll be sorry if you do.” Abby threatened
I already was, and that was no secret
And from then on guilt would stay with me.

He treated me as badly as they did,
Harsh words in the air, more threats on the table
But of the everyday routine I wanted to be rid
Only thanks to that night, to do so was I able
And trying to retain a shred of dignity I walked away.

Things were bad, and would soon get worse
Again and again I screamed in silence
The trials had begun, now it was serious
Our little game had sparked violence
And poor little I was filled with remorse.



April 20, 1692

I felt a little better that day
As to court I was on my way
An official in court I was
I’d joined the mass
And for now I felt in control.

I made a poppet for her that day in court
Trying to pretend not to look hurt
But I was, and on her shoulder I cried
And also, without knowing why, I lied
Telling someone hurt me when she didn’t.

“Sarah Good after me sent her spirit!”
So I said, even when she didn’t
Said she’d tried to hurt me many times
I’m not sure why I told all these lies
Maybe I wasn’t in control of myself

But I did do something I was proud
And made Mr. Proctor shut his mouth
Another whipping I wouldn’t stand
Not by his tongue, not by his hand
Claimed my good will saved his wife.



April 22, 1692

They came for her, and I cried
Abby charged her with false claims
Because of my poppet, to those who have died
Elizabeth’s name could have joined theirs
A needle was the perfect excuse.

I tried to explain, but it didn’t work
They took her away, I could only stare
The weight of my soul was that of a rock
For to betray Abby I couldn’t dare
My life I would risk if I did.

I was afraid, how couldn’t I?
It hurt so much to cause such pain
Would I be able to live with this crime?
I wouldn’t; in my path it would always rain
Unless I was brave and uncovered the lie.

He urged me, yes he did
To help his wife I had to stop lying
So did he, though, for I knew his secret
The reason why Abby wanted to see Elizabeth dying
A sin of which he could not get rid.

My heart was set, or so I thought
I had to so something, or in Hell I would rot
We went to court, I was prepared
To help Elizabeth’s life be spared
And end the madness that had seized Salem.



April 26, 1692

I was quiet at first, intimidated of course
Hoping things wouldn’t get worse
They did soon enough, as you’ll discover
My soul I would lose before trial was over
Goodbye to myself.

I told I had lied, but now I was not
But Abby came, and made them doubt
I was so nervous; I wanted to cry a lot
She pretended not to know what I talked about
Betrayed I would be for daring.

She claimed I was the evil one
Said my spirit was after them
So did the other girls, repeating verbatim
I pleaded them to stop, and that was when
Over me fear had finally won.

I said Mr. Proctor was evil
That he’d made me sign with blood
That it wasn’t my fault, it was his
That he’d made me as dirty as if covered in mud
I said John Proctor was one with the Devil.

I ran to her side and cowered
Abby hugged me and joined my cries
Our voices we never lowered
Accusing him, screaming our lies
And away they took Mr. John.

I’d saved myself, but at what cost?
I knew by then my soul was lost
Again I wanted to run Escape from what I had done
My tongue had become a murderous dagger.



January 17, 1693
                                                           
Guilt, oh guilt, it won’t let me be
I sinned, I betrayed, I lied
And because of that, John died
I allowed fear to control me
I’m as guilty as they are.

While he died not by my hand
Around his neck my tongue put a rope
And of redemption I have no hope
Regret is driving me mad
I can’t take it anymore, please, no more.

Why, oh why?
Is this the life I wanted?
By the guilt of his death forever be haunted?
Why did I have to lie?
I saved my life, but condemned my soul.

But how was I trapped in the lies of my own?
Floating down the river of drowned hope and desperation?
I was betrayed by my object of admiration
Why was I left here alone to mourn?
Is this what I deserved?

Guilt, oh guilt, too much pain
It hurts so, oh so deep
I want to fade away, be free again
It hurts oh so much
Please, end the suffering, Amen.