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

CANTO XI.

Tell me you that hate us, fear us, Dare not see us, nor come near us? What think ye of those dainty Dames, That patch and paint, to kindle Flames? By open Harlotry t'entice ye, Clap ye, Pox ye, and Spice ye. Play at Questions and Commands, Cheat you of your Wits and Lands.

These are brave Ladies, fly in Coaches, Sedans, Chariots, and Caroches. By these we'l see a Scarlet Lord, To cast you at the Judgment Boord. From all your Honour and Estate, Poor Rogue, you must not dare to prate; Not a word, though y'have cause to Hate'um, 'T will be Scandalum Magnatum.

You are crusht, you are gone, Forc't to be silent, and undone.

Of all Remedies you are to seek, Losers must not have leave to speak, You may beg, steal, hang or damn; But you must not complain a Dram. Who cares whether you swim or sink? 'Tis all one, to be sweet or stink.

These are brave Fellows, Reverend Sires, Lords, Baronets, Knights or Squires; Don't Priests use to kindle Fires? If there be any Sect or Faction, I'le warrant they're ne're out of Action. You may damn us all for Witches, And hang us up like Dogs in Ditches; But do your worst, we'l were the Britches.

A False Bond, or a forged Deed, Shall make whole Families Bleed: Wife and Children to want Bread, Good men, they won't knock 'um o'th' Head; Only a little turn 'um out of their Places, And then load'um with Disgraces: Leave'um to pine away, curse and roar, And never care to see 'um more.

A Trick there is, without a Hole in't, Their wit and malice to Cajole it. Get a Noble friend in a good Hour, Match into a Family of Power. Your Enemies shall sink like Moles, Like Rats run into Augur Holes. Now they'l cringe and sawn, O Base, Kick 'um off, Spit 'um in the Face. Though they be damn'd ore and ore, They'l never dare to hurt you more.

We are worse than Come out; ugly Jades, That do but truck under such Blades. They slide away with a good Name, But we undergo all the Blame. They flaunt it and make high Brags, But we beg about in Rags. Then choose you, at the Long Run, By us or them to be undone.

'Tis in vain to make Complaints, For they appear all like Saints. We are the ugly Hell-hound Slaves; But they are the gentile Knaves. We shew down right what we be, In words and actions, as you see: But they hide all with a Veil, Carry a deadly Sting in Tail.

For a small Cheat you grutch us, They tear y' in pieces with their Clutches. They come off clearly by Yea and Nay, And couzen you at Broad noon Day. They profess your dearest Friends, And sooth you up for basest Ends. If there be an honest Man in Town, Starve him, plague him, crush him down. If he offer to tell Tales, Banish him into Wales. If nothing from Truth reclaim him, The Sea or the Gallows must tame him.

These hug and help one another, And dare not each their Faults discover. We don't dissemble, but hurt out right; But they kill you in close Fight. Watch you, and play Least in sight.

They 'l undermine their Fathers, Mothers, Wives, Children and Brothers. They smother all; but we afford You fair Play, above Board.

We commit no open Rapes, These play their Passes and Escapes. What hurt we do you may know; But they'l steal you a dead Blow. In your Bosom they shall lye, Embrace you, and make you Dye. They Insinuate and Creep, Fast and loose, while you're a sleep. I understand their several twinings, I find their secret underminings. Their joynt Compliances and Combinations, To ruine honest Generations.

What we are, we make a show, They're a kind of Witches you shan't know. We are quickly spyed and catcht; But they are closely hid and hatcht. We'l harm you, but it shall be by fair Play; But they'l destroy you, and sneak away. They shall pity you, and Whine, But you shan't know where to Dine.

We openly hang out the Brooms, So you may find us in our Rooms. We are the Bravest Rogues o'th' Two, Because we tell you all we do. But they're Forsworn, and deny'd it, And did all they could to hide it. You're welcom to them, as welcom can make ye; But when you're gone, A Pox take ye;

Plague confound you; what made you here, To eat up all our good Cheer, And drink up all our Wine and March-Beer?

If you'l play the Knaves by Infection, They'l take you into their Protection: And you shall be their Drudges for a Crust, Keep Life and Soul together, do your worst, And be beholden to 'um for their Trust: But that for them, you must be Starvers, You shall not be your own Carvers. You may have their slighter Vogues, But you must be always Poor Rogues.

They that ruine you are Bravo's, You are but the Rascalado's. You must cry them up for brave Fellows, Help 'um the while to blow the Bellows. Except by drudgery you up-stitch-'um, And starve your selves to enrich 'um. Unless you serve their turns, they'l bang ye; Keep their Secrets, or else they'l hang ye.

Y'have brought your selves t'a fair Condition, For counting Witchcraft Superstition. Is't not better to be a Rogue downright, Than to play Rogue least in sight? A Vizard Villain, a Fawning Dog, A Skipping Toad, a Creeping Frog. A Roaring Bear, a Ravening Kite, Better than the Thing call'd Hypocrite. Thus little Bugs are taken fair, While the great Vermin Break the Snare.

You see how 'tis, there's strange Reports, For there are Witches of all Sorts. Not a Word for your life, No difference 'tween Man and Wife. Don't bark or bite, ye Rascal Curs, B'as mute as your Masters, make no Stirs. Be whist, though ye be going to Hell; If ye be ask'd, say, All is well.

You see Bribes coming, you must Wink, Cry Sweet, when you smell a Stink. Brave Jewels, Gold and Silver Plate; Not for your Master, but his Mate. The Lady is presented, she must please, Coaches and Horses for her Ease. She is very quick-sighted, With Venice-Glasses much delighted: Persian Carpets are the Truest, Antwerp Tapestry, the Newest.

The Italians paint the fairest Faces, The Flanders Nuns make the best Laces, Barbary Horses run best Races. My Lady hath a dainty Tooth, Kid and Venison forsooth: In truth she loves the choicest Fishes, To be serv'd up in China Dishes. Be sure you do not starve your Cause, And then, never fear the Laws. Jewels and Plate, rich Ermin and Bever, For Lord and Lady, come off Clever.

Be silent of all this, or you shall be hurl'd Presently into another World.

They'l post you farthest from the Light; Dead tell no Tales, Dead never Bite. Swear and Lye lustily, and lick our Trenchers; Not a word, though your Lords be Wenchers. We Lacquies hand Whores up Stairs In Sedans, 'bout their Lords Affairs. A Shilling drops into our hands. We must keep our Masters Commands.

Our Betters must be first serv'd, then by a Trick A Salt-Bitch may give us a Lick. We have our poor Whores, for poor Offenders, For Bread and Cheese, and Ale-Spenders. These are good enough for Sinners, That don't know where to get their Dinners. They that have but a slender Stock, Must be content with a Bit and a Knock.

We can tell what's what, A Slave lacks a bit for his Cat. Like to like will always follow, Hungry Dogs have a good swallow. Like Master, like Man, Help, that help can. Caw me and I'le Caw thee, takes with all, Dissembling is 'mongst great and small.

The great Trees are all Just, And the mean Shrubs are always worst. They are the honestest Men, That can Swear to and agen. These are the true Cunning men, Which good Witches or Wizards ken: But we are worse than come out, Ever torn and kickt about.

Great Rogues rise higher, Hell be thanked, Slaves in the World must be tost in a Blanket. We must labour and fare hard, Witches are always poor, amard. The Rich have stoln away our Trade; We are mar'd, but they are made: And which is the worst that can come upon us, Th'have stole away all our Credit from us.

Of them there's no Suspition; They're Good, but we are the Superstition. We are Molls-tell-troths, they are Smugglers, We are Plain-dealing, they are Jugglers. We do all the wrong we can, And ne're pretend to Honest man. We are what we profess; But such as they are nothing less.

We don't go behind the Vail, They labour backwards, Tooth and Nail: And downwards too, like Moles and Bats; And upwards too, like Mice and Rats. In Gaols and Dungeons we crawl, They feast in Parlour and Hall. We are the Wolves, they are the Foxes; We work in sight, they're shut up in Boxes.

Witches hurt you, and ye Whore'um; They plague you most, and you most Adore'um. 'Tis pity but you should be Curst, That hate the bad, and love the worst. If you will be bewitcht, you must; And if you will, you shall be Curst: If you will be Fool'd and Knav'd, Ye shall be abused, and beslav'd.

Hang ye must, be sure, That do most mischief, fair and pure. You're the crossest Fools that e're were maken; Of all, you are the most mistaken. This is the greatest mischief sure, To come without Call into their Lure. Spaniel-Witchcraft fawn, when basted, Be hang'd at last, when all is wasted.

This is just Cuckolds Eare, Be abus'd, and take no Care. A Fool in Grain, that courts Despair, And makes his chiefest Foe his Heir. He that cringes most, and keeps closest to you; Hug him most, that would most undo you.

He that most would eat you up, Cherish him most o're Can and Cup. He that most intends to Bane ye, Let him Cudgel ye and Cane ye. Nay, if he would seek to hang ye, Feast him most, and let him bang ye: Smooth him softly on the Cheek; Then kiss his Breech, and say, 'tis Sweet.

This is the right Condition, Of them that are of the Worlds disposition. Knaves then have the bravest Times, To be made most of, for the greatest Crimes. It seems this is the way to Wive, It seems this is the way to Thrive. We could ne're find out this Conjecture; We ne're had the wit to read this Lecture. We ne're practic'd this rare Function, Ne're sound Stars in so happy Conjunction.

I think 'twas rarely seen before, To Rant it first, and cry first Whore: Be most rich, and cry most poor, Act most, and go most behind the Door. Surely there's no Witchcraft then Like this, to play Knaves, and shew honest Men: And to make Fools believe, They're most our Friends, that most us grieve.

Then if the World will be cheated, Of their Wits let 'um be defeated. We don't openly Pray and Preach, And privately over-reach. But we directly Plague and Curse, And we are plagu'd for better for worse. So you know what we are, and what to call us, And if e're took, what will befall us?

The Law telleth us our Fate; We tell you when we love or hate. They dress up Lyes with Trick me dainty, And the World's Fools with Love and Thank ye. The most Hypocrites, says Martin, And tho most Knaves, the better Fortune.