Canidia, or, The witches a rhapsody, in five parts / by R.D.

CANTO XIV.

I'le close with the Master of Obligations, Jack of all Trades and Occupations, That never keeps his Forms or Stations. He runs through every Compass Point, Is ne're in nor out of Joynt. Invents true and false Reports, With all Companies sutes and sorts. I ne're observ'd, as I can tell, Any such a Vertumnus in Hell.

A fawning Ape, a flattering Dog, A crafty Fox, a smiling Hog. A roaring Bear, a Lion ranting, A howling Wolf, a Mag-Pye canting. In all Habits to beguile, A wet and dry Saint Crockadile. He can whine, simper, cry and roar, All this while he loves a Whore, I'le ha' to do with him no more.

He sacrifices at every Altar, Cunningly scapes every Haltar, Turn him to the Straits of Gibraltar. There he hangs out all Flags, Catches every Ship that wags. In all Places he makes his Brags, Struts in Tissues, Begs in Rags.

Of Pigmy and of Giant stature, The veriest Rogue in Nature. Amongst the Tartar and Turk, Sets every Villain at work. In every Corner he does lurk. A perfect Rook, a perfect Shirk. No Roguery can suffice him, 'Till we Witches chastise him. He does all the World infect, Gets and loses all Respect, Only Hell can him correct.

This Sect is true bred, and of the right kind, That rides the Devil off his Legs, and breaks his Wind. Sea-men and Scholars, gallop, spur and switch, Till they tumble in a Ditch.

Raise a deep Dust of Dispute, Pro & Con▪ Till the clear Truth be quite gone. Then leave the Question red hot, To them that dare handle it over the Pot, And determine at last with a Why not? Jacta est Alea e're and anon, They have waded over Rubicon. Perit Judicium, secundum meum Intellectum, Cum Res transit in Affectum.

Perdit operam & Oleum, When the Bus'ness ends in Cordolium. As they do, that have read Sybillae Folium, All Trash and Trumpery, Palea & Lolium. Principium est Ʋnum, when that's divided, No Controversie can be decided. What's made Duable or Triable, Is also Malleable and Friable, By Decree of the Schools Council Table.

Majestas Imperii, the Sword doth wield, Challenges Salus Populi into the Field, But the Rebel Rout scorns to yield. Every Princely Suavamen, Shall be counted a Gravamen. To which the Vulgar Priests cry Amen, Who with the Rout are the same Men.

Indemnity and Toleration, Give Stable room and Litter for every Disputa∣tion, But hinder a true Reformation. At Baiae, Tiberius lay close in his Box, And with the whole Senate plaid Reinold the Fox. Take a Latitat about your Neck, And give every Vice a check. Lye close by the Philosopher's Stone under ground, And I'le warrant you, you shall never be found.

Trebonian, the botching Sutor, Pretended to be the Laws Co-adjutor. Whose Memory is therefore Curst, 'Cause he left the best, and kept the Worst. Those Fragments and Cento's, Hoysted the Laws upon Ten-toes.

Or, being Strait with Buckrom-Basting, Made them Crooked, Everlasting.

Justinian made a good Constitution, Forbidding Comments to prevent Confusion. But they by Glosses have perplext, The pure Simplicity of the Text. By which poor Clients are so vext, You may conjecture what is next. All that the Law doth blame, Suffer Pain, Poverty, or Shame.

The Judge of Common Law and Right, Was Praetor, or Chancelor at first sight. These were the old honest Ways, To prevent Charges and Delays. Now you must leap a Communi Banco, To Bill and Answer in Black and Blanco, To hold at least seven Tropicks in Cancro.

The good old Laws are Abrogated, The good old Lytae, Eunuchated. So, an Index Expurgatorius, In honest Authors is Notorious. Some honest Husbands are too Uxorious, Geld them that are too Laborious. To get, for their Wives to spend in waste, And make them Cuckolds and Beggars at last.

In nothing we can be secure, For nothing comes to our hands pure. By Plagiaries, ignorant false Scribes, Sollicitors that take Bribes. Corruption runs through all Tribes, By hunting after them I get Kibes.

We're abus'd, not only by Pen and Ink, But in our Clothing, Meat and Drink. In Building, Planting and Sowing, Harvesting, Threshing, Reaping and Mowing, Be we never so well careful or knowing. In Hawking, Hunting and Whoring, In Pots and Dishes, false Reck'ning and Scoring, And upon Books or Papers poaring.

Trust no Body, that's the safest Rule, Well meaning Honesty's but Ridicule. You are all either Befool'd, or Fools, Never trust to Edged Tools. The eldest Knave goes to School, The wisest Rascal turns Fool.

The Blade that struts in all his Bravery, Brings all to Beggary or Slavery. Nothing is wholsom, nothing is savoury, All smells of Folly or Knavery. At your Table Judas sits, At your Kitchin he licks the Spits. 'Twill put you out of your little Wits, Or bring you to some fainting Fits.

Behind your Chair stands a Waiter, A Parasite, or a Traytor. In your Bosom a Snake lies, In your Bed a Syren cries. Burn 'um out of your Hive like Wasps and Hornets, That buz false Tales with Musick of Cornets. These are the Dogs that fetch and carry, When all's gone they no longer tarry.

A young Rogue, by your Bounty bred, Betrays you at Board and Bed: He deserves to be knockt o'th' Head, He tells all is done or said. You're safe no where from a Knave, You shall not lye quietly in your Grave. Riches and Honour shan't defend you, Vertue be sure can ne're Befriend you, But it may perchance help to End you.

You're nearest Confidents are not secure, Trust not, tho they look so Demure. Beware most, of the most pure, Correspondents do not long endure. By Vows and Oaths turn 'um and wind 'um, By Body and Soul bind 'um. If they stir, tye their hands behind 'um, And then you may be sure to find 'um.

If any where you may be bold, Try among Witches, young or old. We are like buzzing, stinging Flies, To Revenge you of your Enemies, And be sure, Vengeance never dies. Besides, we can tell many Lyes, Make us therefore your Trusty Spies▪ Advance to us, and we'l relieve you, That none shall hurt or deceive you. If whole Armies against you fight, We can make 'um all vanish out a sight.

I'm angry at the Indian Tree, That can't endure the Sun to see. With Moon and Stars they do agree, They are no company for me.

They bud and blossom in the Nights, But wither a days all to Rights, These are to Travellers strange Sights. A Plant of a dogged sullen kind, Such another I cannot find.

To the dark, from the warm Suns, Like a blind Rogue away he runs. Wou'd I always had such Duns, I shou'd be afraid of Guns. A Grove of such Trees wou'd do well, At Delphos, or in Pluto's Cell.

A Lye, constantly deserves the Stab, Tho from King Oberon or Queen Mab. I'de rather deal with a Rogue or a Drab, Than with a drunken, quarrelling Scab. But of all things I should be loth, To encounter a false Oath. Especially from a Brother of the Cloth, In earnest I defie them both.

I ever lov'd to tell Truth, Excepting to my Sister Ruth. She Cheats, by Yea and Nay, forsooth, And she has a dainty Tooth. An Hostler robs me of my Oats, An Atturney of my Horse for Ten Groats. To trust a Tapster, I'de be loth, He cousens me with Nick and Froth.

A false Balance, Breathed Wares, Deceive Buyers in Markets and Fairs. Tumble such Knaves, say I, down Stairs, And drag them in the Dirt by the Hairs.

If you lack, I can hurl you a Curse, Rather than pick your Pocket, or take your Purse. Besides, I am an excellent Nurse, And I wish you may ne're have a worse.

Take heed by all means of a Holy Sister, Tho she shed Tears 'til she have all to be pist her. If she be sick, I never mist her, To cure her by giving her a Clyster. But of all Remedies the Truth to smother, An use of Consolation from a Holy Brother, So they edifie one another. Lambs are as innocent as day, And they have leave to sport and play.

See you a Carret-Beard, a Leering Eye, A Fleering Look, there's a Knave hard by. Be as whist as a Ghost in his Tomb, While such a Rogue is in the Room. O Pythagoras, thou wast wise, To enjoyn silence amongst Spies. Hear all, and put all in a Bag, But let not your Tongue wag.

Terrae Filius is a dull Translator, The Wits are, Tripos and Praevaricator. Take heed what you do, take heed what you say, There's an Informer in the way. You're betray'd every Mothers Son, Shut the Doors close, or you're all undone. Beware of the Man that takes Notes, In time 'twil come to cutting a Throats.

Have a care, wisely play your Game, It may cost your Life, Estate, or Fame. As much as you can, get out of Harms way, There is Lupus in Fabulâ. You cannot be free from Fears, While you hold a Wolf by th' Ears. Let Cynthius pull you by the Lugs, Take heed of false Cans, Fl••gons and Jugs.

O thou Sainted, Painted Fiend, Under the Vizor of a Friend. Remember to observe my Command, To all the World in the Dark stand. Let all the World be to you in the Light, Provided you play least in Sight, And then bid all the Rogues good Night. Answer few Questions, determine rarely, So you may come off safely and fairly.

But among us, tho our Tongues do clatter, Yet of Treason there's no such Matter. We seldom Honest men bespatter, It makes all the Teeth in my head chatter. We can keep Secrets rarely well, Sent us from the Pit of Hell; Others, like Fools, ring out the Bell. Keep a close Mouth at Board and Bed, A close Mouth makes a wise Head, The way to steal a Mayden-Head.

If you chance to get a By-blow, Let a Doctor or a Midwife know. They'l provide for you or your Brungeon, As long as there is Pond, Well, Jakes or Dungeon.

They'l promote you to be a Nurse forsooth, And you may serve for your Masters Tooth. Then comes Favour, then comes Gifts, Stifle all your Bastard Slips. Poor simple Whores are put to their Shifts, I can give such all sorts of Lifts.

A Grass-Widow, or a Brummidgam-Maid, With Midwives drive a Devilish Trade. To a stale Serving-Man-Ass, With a small Farm, for a pure Virgin you may pass. Your Master now and then may take a Turn, No fear, you shall for a Witch burn. Go Fine, and Garish, For the honestest Whore in all the Parish.

Beans and Bacon are no Meat, For a Pythagorean to eat. ‘ (I am all in a cold Sweat, ‘ Yet always ready for the Feat.) Let Eunuchs pick upon Grass, Too weak Food for a Boy or a Lass. ‘ But fetch me the t'other Glass, ‘ I am as brisk as e're I was.

‘ They that are hug'd in my sweet Arms, ‘ Ravisht and overcome with Charms. ‘ Shall be free from all other Harms, ‘ I never cheat 'um of their Farms. ‘ I am a Lady fair and bright, ‘ You must pay dear for a Lodging-Night. ‘ Lais and Thais, I don't admire ye, ‘ Non cuivis contingit Corinthum adire. ‘ Philosopher, I must Jeer ye, ‘ For Non tanti emam Penitere.

‘ You may, you say, buy Gold too dear, ‘ I can afford you better Cheer. ‘ I'le make you glad, you hungry Sophs, ‘ To swill with grunting Hogs in Troughs. ‘ Dirty Whores may serve your Chaps, ‘ 'Twil be a Favour perhaps, ‘ To snap at our Leavings and Scraps. ‘ 'Tis too sawcy to kiss us, or suck our Paps, ‘ We are too high for you to sit in our Laps.

‘ Turn out Freshmen and Sophomores, ‘ Among the louzy, pocky Whores, ‘ Such gross flesh is fit for you, and for Boors. ‘ We Ladies are Gentlemens Fare, ‘ Venison, Partridge, Plover and Hare. ‘ Venus with us may not compare, ‘ We are delicate dainty Ware. ‘ The Mutton's ours, get if you can, ‘ A greazy Sop of the Pan. ‘ If you be troubled with the Itch, ‘ Get you a Bremming Sow, or a Salt Bitch.

‘ We are all Citizens Wives, ‘ A contented Cuckold always thrives. ‘ The naked Indian for Jewels dives, ‘ These make us lead Jovial Lives. ‘ We are all for Merry-Land, ‘ That have our Husbands at Command. ‘ Whetstones-Park is a fruitful Land, ‘ And Turnbull-Street a pleasant Strand.

‘ I laid my Tail at Lilly's Entry, ‘ Where all the Blazing Stars kept Centry.

‘ The Man i'th' Moon by us was Cornuted, ‘ When we with Constellations disputed, ‘ All the Astrologers were confuted. ‘ Thy learned Rules, brave Aretine, ‘ Have stufft with Lust this Liver of mine.

‘ Base Rogues, set upon a Woman, ‘ I'de ha' you know I fear no Man. ‘ I'le answer ye, foot to foot, ‘ And dare ye to come to't. ‘ For Bed and Boord, for Bowl or Kan, ‘ I dare encounter any Man.

‘ Call for Bacchus lusty Bowls, ‘ 'Tis Wine, pure Wine revives sad Souls. ‘ Call for Mars his Sword and Rapier, ‘ Sack will make an old Woman to caper. ‘ Give me Hercules Club, ‘ To stave the vast Heydelbergh's Tub. ‘ Let the purest Wits be chose, ‘ Wits for Reparties, and singing Old Rose, ‘ And taking the Devil by the Nose.

‘ By this Curveat, by this Hop, ‘ I'm resolv'd to see the last Drop, ‘ Tho next Morn into my Grave I pop, ‘ I scorn to be outdone by any Fop. ‘ Eat Pig, Goose, Capon, Partridge and Pheasant, ‘ I'm for a short life and a pleasant.

A great Don with a long Train, In your Cottage entertain. To do him Honour, Strain a Point, And be, for ever after, out of Joint.

The Servants Curse him, 'tis hard, He gave them not a Farthing reward. Hang ye, Damn ye, Split ye, Rot ye, He has quite and clean forgot ye, Have a care next, He has over-shot ye.

O thou Son of the White Hen, Thou art the Fairest among Men. Lords and Ladies croutch to thee, While Fortune dandles on her Knee. ‘ But I hope to see the time, ‘ When thou art past thy Flowry-Prime, ‘ Upon the Gallow-Tree to climb.

‘ I Swear by all my Mayden-Head, ‘ I ne're went chaste, nor sober to Bed. ‘ I had the luck always to be well sped, ‘ 'Tis a sure sign I am well bred. ‘ Many a wet Saint has lost her Head, ‘ But I from my Colours never fled. ‘ This it is to be no Starter, ‘ As rank a Witch as e're wore Garter.

‘ At Dort, Damman was a fit Scribe, ‘ For Reprobates to take no Bribe. ‘ My Brain's entoxicated with Conundrums, ‘ Therefore I'le deal no more in Numbers. ‘ I'm straitned with Vulgar Rhimes, ‘ To correct the Vices of the Times.

That which we obliging call, Is to comply with the Devil and all. To bar my self of mine own Ease, And hurt my self, others to please.

So 'tis sometimes against my mind, That I may be civil and kind. Drink my self off my Legs and Life, Engage in other mens Strife.

You're a Coward, you're no good Companion, If you won't Fight, and Tope with a Woman. For fear of being hist or kickt, Of being basted, slasht, or prickt. Give such a pitiful Slave the Lift, That to cheat, drab, or stab, has not the gift. Hang him up for Hawks-meat, a Mongrel, Good for neither Hog, Dog, nor Dunghil, Nor hardly to draw in a Tumbrel.

Nothing angers me more than a Prelate or Peer. That eats up a poor Vicars good chear. And the Ladies Sons and Daughters, To stoop to a Vicaridge Thatcht Rafters. To come with their Coaches and Trains, To devour all the Parsons Gains.

The poor Scholar must comply, Such Guests must not be put by. He hopes by this to be a great Man, Let him come to't how he can. 'Tis honour enough for him to boast, Of his Friends at Court, o're a Pot and a Tost. Still he must provide bak't, boyl'd and rost.

My Ladies Chamber-Maid, or Dairy, Look upon her, she's monstrous Aery. Poor Fool, she's tender, nay don't fright her, If you were a Lord you may like her.

She's a prety Lass I can tell ye, As e're in your life you took by the Belly, But you'l have need of Cock-broth and Gelly.

I ghess by your Mumping what you lack, I'le warrant her Mettal to the Back. Observe well, how the Girl does toss it, I must provide ye a Cawdle and Sack-Possit. I ghess by her Looks what she lacks, I'le be bang'd If she proves not so right as e're twang'd. If you don't do her right I wish you were hang'd. Your dawb'd, patcht Froes are not half so sound, They're rotten, they're shotten, they stink above∣ground. Her Brother you may set o're your Hawks and Hounds, For her sake prefer him before other Clowns.

One Tongue for a Woman, all say, is enough, There's none of 'um but are Tail-Proof. What think ye of the Men in Steel and Buffs, Or Furs or Scarlet, or Ruffs? If it were the Crim Tartar or Turk, She could easily find 'um all work.

Queenborough Mayor shall Justice hatch, Contrive By-Laws upon the Thatch. Who shall dare look him in the Face, Under a couple of Capons with his Gown and Mace? No disparagement Mistress Maioress, Of all the Ladies is the fairest. Came not Dictators from the Plow? Why not from a Thresher on the top of a Mow, Or a Herdsman from the Hog or Cow?

We'l lay our Heads together, Tittle Tattle, Our Husbands lay their Horns together, Rattle Bladder, Rattle, We're like to fight well when we come to Battle. A poor Man, be he ne're so wise, All he says or does, despise. Upon the same Man open your Eyes, You'l like him well in a rich disguise. Farmers undo Landlords, I judge, When for Rack Rents they take a Grudge.

To disoblige I'm very loth, My Neighbour, tho I break my Oath. To be an Informer is counted a shame, Against a Customer I should be to blame. Misdemeanours I dare not Present, Out of a Charitable intent. If I be a Constable or Churchwarden, I must not weed the Parish Garden. If I do, when I and they can't agree, They'l be sure to do the like to me, Therefore, I'le take care to keep my self free.