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

CANTO XIV.

If any thing hath me inspir'd, If any thing my Muse hath fir'd, It is those monstrous ugly Beasts, Hypocrisies and Interests: Both which in others I detest, But 'mong our selves, I like them best. These bring Friends and Foes about 'um, We cannot do our work without 'um.

Cruelty's nothing, Lyes, beyond compare, The best Dish in all our Bill of Fare: But the Dissembler, is most base Of all our cursed Hellish Race. Fierce Revenge, of bloody Hue, Is Devil-like, but True: But of all Fiends, as to my mind, The worst is, of the Fawning kind.

Hang the Hypocrite, he is most Evil, For he would not stick to betray the Devil. The black I'le trust; but the white Devil Is the Contriver of all Evil. The Hypocrites, 'tis sadly true, Both Devils and Witches out-do. Rogues are all for what they can get, In heat or cold, in dry or wet; All is Fish that comes to Net.

By fair or foul means, rap or rend, Rake all together, nothing spend. A Principle of Self-love and Gain, To thrive by others Loss and Pain: To flatter all both Poor and Rich, And for a Penny kiss their Britch. These to us more Skill impart, Than thousand Masters of the Black Art.

I loath it most in wealthy Swains, Noble and Learned stoop to Gains: 'Tis common to both Gowns; I had almost said to Crowns. Ambassadors of State, Dissemble at a strange Rate; Swear to peaceable Conditions, Intend Warlike Expeditions.

Consuls, Senators, Tribunes fail, Base fawning Roman wags his Tail. For an Heroick Sir to leer, Under his Bonnet, mow and fleer; How ill it looks in a Peer? How do the Common-People Jeer? After Promises and Oaths most repeated, You shall be sure to be most cheated.

These Rascals, for being so base, Are to our Profession a Disgrace. Sordid Lucre ne're tempted us so high, Our Vows and Covenants to deny. Methinks these Faces of Angel-Hue, When the Heart is most untrue; Look worse by far than Wolves or Dogs, More loathsom than Toads or Frogs.

A base counterfeit, couzning Hag More's hist at, than Bob-tail, Tag and Rag. Tatter-de-Mallions we know, And shabby, lowzy Sharks let go: But Priests and Lords, and Lawyers wise, For them to go in a Disguise, It mads my Soul, and hurts my Eyes, I would make them a Sacrifice.

I know not what can be worse in Hell, Yet, I like it abominably well. Certainly there is great Reason, To loath the Traytor, and like the Treason. Then Hypocrites, we'l use ye; But we are resolv'd to abuse ye. The World hates you, and so do we, And with both Hell does agree.

Your banging Hats and false Faces, Your killing complemental Graces: Your grave Gate, and dissembling Garb, Makes you odious to every Barb. An Indian, or Turk adores Honesty; but Treachery abhors: For 'tis to be more than a Devil, To be at once both kind and cruel.

If I have any skill in Vices, As much or more than I have in Spices; I would cut them out in Slices, Or square them into false Dices. Dissembling, with Gravity and Sanctity ill sutes, Because Always it self confutes; And much remains among the Mutes, And they are worser than the Brutes.

It gets Wealth, where there is no need, And seeming Love, without good speed: For of all Sins it is most hated, From all Company reprobated. The veriest Rogues that find them out, Cry foh, and kick them about. Though they be ne're so great, yet still the Vogues Are, Hang 'um old Knaves, hang 'um Old Rogues.

I'le burn all my Trinkets, and my Books, Before I'le trust their Words or Looks. Their smiling, whining, scowling, winking, Uncorrespondent to their Thinking: Besides a lownging, cringing Gate, There is no end of all their Prate; Out-chat the Devil, or his Mate, And still keep a stinking State.

Never threaten, never frown, But (like the Devil) run ye down. Hell's fear'd, because 'tis Hell; But her's Heaven, and yet nothing Well. They never Travel without Hoods, Bid you stand, and take your Goods; Charm your Eyes, enchant your Ears, Save ye, and bring ye into all Fears.

Witches are a Mongrel-Breed, Betwixt Imps and Human Seed; Like Fawns, Satyrs, Moors, Jackanapes, and Monky Whores: But these, What shall I call 'um? Where are they, or what will befall 'um? Above Devils I will enstall 'um, I wish I could at last Enthral 'um.