ll his expenses paid into the bargain?

In 1664[130] we find him at Yarmouth, accusing sixteen women in a batch,
among whom was an old woman easily got to confess. She said she used to
work for Mr. Moulton, a stocking merchant and alderman of the town; but
one day, going for work, she found him from home, and his man refused to
let her have any till his return, which would not be for a fortnight. She,
being exasperated against the man, applied to the maid to let her have
some knitting to do, but the maid gave her the like answer: upon which she
went home sorely discontented with both. In the middle of the night some
one knocked at the door: on her rising to open it she saw a tall black
man, who told her that she should have as much work from him as she would,
if she would write her name in his book. He then scratched her hand with a
penknife, and filled the pen with her blood--guiding her hand while she
made her mark. This done, he asked what he could do for her: but when she
desired to have her revenge on Mr. Moulton's man, he told her he had no
power over him, because he went constantly to church to hear Whitfield and
Brinsley, and said his prayers morning and evening. The same of the maid;
but there was a young child in the house more easy to be dealt with, for
whom he would make an image of wax which then they must bury in the
churchyard, and as the waxen image wasted and consumed, so would the
child; which was done, and the child thrown into a languishing condition
in consequence; so bad, indeed, that they all thought it was dying. But as
soon as the witch confessed, the little one lifted up its head and
laughed, and from that instant began to recover. The waxen image was found
where she said she and the devil had buried it, and thus the whole of the
charm was destroyed, and the child was saved; but the poor old crazy woman
with her blackbird imp, and her fifteen compeers with their whole
menagerie of imps, were hung at Yarmouth, amid the rejoicings of the
multitude.

At Edmonsbury, that same year, another witch had a little black smooth imp
dog, which she sent to play with the only child of some people she hated.
At first the child refused to play with its questionable companion, but
soon got used to its daily appearance, and lost all fear. So the dog-imp,
watching its opportunity, got the boy one day to the water, when it
dragged him underneath and drowned him. The witch was hanged: could they
do less in such a c