Danforth. This is a court of law, Mister. I’ll have no effrontery here!
Proctor. Forgive him, sir, for his old age. Peace, Giles, we’ll prove it all now. (He lifts up Mary’s chin.) You cannot weep, Mary. Remember the angel, what he say to the boy. Hold to it, now; there is your rock. (Mary quiets. He takes out a paper, and turns to Danforth.) This is Mary Warren’s deposition. I—I would ask you remember, sir, while you read it, that until two week ago she were no different than the other children are today. (He is speaking reasonably, restraining all his fears, his anger, his anxiety.) You saw her scream, she howled, she swore familiar spirits choked her; she even testified that Satan, in the form of women now in jail, tried to win her soul away, and then when she refused—
Danforth. We know all this.
Proctor. Aye, sir. She swears now that she never saw Satan; nor any spirit, vague or clear, that Satan may have sent to hurt her. And she declares her friends are lying now.
(Proctor starts to hand Danforth the deposition, and Hale comes up to Danforth in a trembling state.)
Hale. Excellency, a moment. I think this goes to the heart of the matter.
Danforth (with deep misgivings). It surely does.
Hale. I cannot say he is an honest man; I know him little. But in all justice, sir, a claim so weighty cannot be argued by a farmer. In God’s name, sir, stop here; send him home and let him come again with a lawyer—
Danforth (patiently). Now look you, Mr. Hale—
Hale. Excellency, I have signed seventy-two death warrants; I am a minister of the Lord, and I dare not take a life without there be a proof so immaculate no slightest qualm of conscience may doubt it.
Danforth. Mr. Hale, you surely do not doubt my justice.
Hale. I have this morning signed away the soul of Rebecca Nurse, Your Honor. I’ll not conceal it, my hand shakes yet as with a wound! I pray you, sir, this argument let lawyers present to you.
Danforth. Mr. Hale, believe me; for a man of such terrible learning you are most bewildered—I hope you will forgive me. I have been thirty-two year at the bar, sir, and I should be confounded were I called upon to defend these people. Let you consider, now—(to Proctor and the others) And I bid you all do likewise. In an ordinary crime, how does one defend the accused? One calls up witnesses to prove his innocence. But witchcraft is ipso facto, on its face and by its nature, an invisible crime, is it not? Therefore, who may possibly be witness to it? The witch and the victim. None other. Now we cannot hope the witch will accuse herself; granted? Therefore, we must rely upon her victims—and they do testify, the children certainly do testify. As for the witches, none will deny that we are most eager for all their confessions. Therefore, what is left for a lawyer to bring out? I think I have made my point. Have I not?
Hale. But this child claims the girls are not truthful, and if they are not—
Danforth. That is precisely what I am about to consider, sir. What more may you ask of me? Unless you doubt my probity?
Hale (defeated). I surely do not, sir. Let you consider it, then.
Danforth. And let you put your heart to rest. Her deposition, Mr. Proctor.
Identify an example of dramatic irony in the section above and explain its effect on the audience in two to three sentences.