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

CANTO VIII.

We live alone, like Amazons, Admit of Slaves to serve our turns; No otherwise than as Stallions, Then turn them off, as poor Pigmalions. We can have Fiends to cool our Heats, Or fire us into lustful Feats; Th'Infernal Gallants, fresh and fresh, Feast on Witches ranker Flesh; And to enjoy our full Delights, We aim to be all Hermophrodites.

The Shee Eagle's the Bird of Prey, Takes all the Care, bears all the Sway; The Male's a Cuckold, a Slug, a Fop, Just like a Midwifes drunken Top; Shee labours, and takes all the gains Fees the poor Lubbard for his pains. The right meaning is, we Witches Will have the Women wear the Breeches.

Lack you an Old Doegna Devil, To be the Mistress of all Evil; To help you to a fresh Whore, To make you rich, to make you poor; To cure the Pox, or other Strains, The Flux, or Running of the Reins; A Clap or so, Parboil or Stew, Till you come to another Hue.

She Paints, she Patches, she makes Issues; But you must cloth her in Gold and Tissues. She picks your Pocket, Commands all In Kitchin, Parlour, Chamber, Hall. If a By-blow comes, she is to hide it, The Dam must marry, simper, Bride it; Put the Bastard out to Nurse, Or strangle it, 'tis ne're the worse: But preventing Physick's best, Poyson the Egg in the Nest.

A Cup of Love is a Ladies Lure, Be she never so demure; That will fetch her when nothing can, She'l quickly learn to know a Man. Let her try; she never meant it, But she had a good intent in't: She thought she could, and she could indeed, Alas, poor Soul, it was but need. But more than all this, 'tis truly said, She could ne're remember she was a Maid.

She shall take Bribes of every Lover, That in and about the House do hover; Save them from fidling in a cold Tide, Bring them to their Mistress Bed-side: Convey a Letter from a Sinner In Napkin, as she sits at Dinner; Speak a good Word to Lady or Master, To make the Match go on the faster.

Now what is more that you can think on, Give us Paper, Pen and Inkhorn; We'l write down all you would have done, To the Sive and Sheers, and clouted Shun.

We'l play at small game, marry come out, Any thing, rather than give out. We study mischief, and you too, And let us alone to do.

We clamber to the roaring Bear, And to the dreadful Dragon near: The Barking Dog▪ Star makes us mad, The warbling Lyra makes us glad; Taurus butts us with his Horn, Orion passes by in scorn; The Swan sings dying Notes that please us, The Ramping Lion would disease us.

We put on Berenices Hair, And sit in Cassiopeias Chair; By the great Star that there appear'd, All the Astronomers were jeer'd. The Constellations flame about us, But can neither hurt nor rout us. To us the Stars do all appear, Within the Southern Hemisphere. Thus about, about we roll, From th' Artick to the Antartick Pole.

All the Gods and Goddesses, to see to, At best could never do as we do. Mercury, a Common Carrier, Pallas, a weak Woman Warrier, Apollo, is but a Farrier; Mars, a kind of Reformado, Vulcan, a meer Bravado; Bacchus, a reeling drunken Sot, Could never get out of a Pot.

Neptune, Thetis, Nymphs and Tritons, A Company of Slight ones; What could they do, but catch Fishes, And serve them up in Cockle-Dishes; In Sowce and Brine, and Pickle swimming, Rugged as Bears for want of trimming: Broken Wrecks are their best goods, Keep Court in state upon the Floods.

Cupid goes about a shooting, After whining Lovers hooting; Lazy Venus lies a Bed, Cuckolds Vulcans horned Head; Hercules Wields a knot of Wood, 'Tis likely that should do much good; A Lions Skin forsooth he wears, Some silly Beasts and Cowards scares; Kills a few Ox or Sheep, and knocks down Some pitiful Squire or Country-Cockscomb.

Polyphemus has but one Eye, Argus an hundred, a great Spy; Hydra's multiplied Heads Could never sleep quiet in their Beds; Juno had but a little Envy in her, None of her Trulls was such a Sinner As the meanest Witch, good for no more Than to watch a Country-Whore.

We tempt Ladies, to steal to bed To Grooms and Thrashers, to be sped; Hogen Mogens nurst at Poor-folks Fires, May have Varlets and Pages for their Sires. From the Stage to the Dairy, So to the Kitchin; take all that's Aery.

Or any ugly dirty Trulls Better than Wives, for such base Gulls.