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

CANTO XI.

‘ We can Conjure the proudest Daemon••, ‘ If you'l not do this, we'l split the Heavens, ‘ Lay Isis's Secrets all ope, ‘ Into their Cabinet-Council grope. ‘ Plunder the horrid Magazines, ‘ Called Sacred Eleusynes. ‘ Expose the monstrous Beastly Rites, ‘ Unseen by Moon and Stars a Nights.

‘ Rifle Mysteries, tell Tales, ‘ Of all your Numens, Shees and Males. ‘ Spoil your rich Trade, and all your Fea••••, ‘ Discover all your damned Cheats. ‘ Ransack all your Golden Cists, ‘ Rob your Relicks, starve your Priests. ‘ In Recompence for all your Lies, ‘ Make good every rich Sacrifice.

‘ All our Bullocks and Rams restore, ‘ Or else we'l never offer more. ‘ We'l break your Altars, shut your Gates, ‘ Fire the Temples o're your Pates, ‘ And never serve you at these Rates. ‘ Restore our Crowns and Jewels Gifts, ‘ Or we'l put you all to your last Shifts. ‘ Dash all your Royal Donations, ‘ Cancel all Impropriations.

‘ To do This, I adjure you; ‘ If you do That, I abjure you.

‘ If you do neither, I conjure you, ‘ If you tell Truth, I'le ne're endure you. ‘ An be hang'd, you call us Witches, ‘ An be damn'd, you call us Bitches; ‘ But spight of you we'l wear the Britches.

‘ I'le make Tantalus Ghost, ‘ In Ice to freez, in Flames to rost. ‘ I'le banish Shades to Fairy Land, ‘ Or the dark Cabins of the Stygian Strand. ‘ I'le thrust them into Little-Ease, ‘ Soak 'um in Phlegethon's Boyling Seas. ‘ I'e come arm'd with Hercules Clubs, ‘ And break all the Danaïdes Tubs.

‘ I'le hale Thyestes by Magick Tricks, ‘ To loathed Thebes, out of Styx. ‘ The Ghosts from Sepulchres shall rise, ‘ By Beel-zebub, God of Flies. ‘ Fright Mortals with horrid Cries, ‘ Throw Fire-balls to put out their Eyes. ‘ I'le break in pieces Promotheus's Chains, ‘ And dash out the cruel Vultur's Brains.

‘ Rowze Spirits, stand on Tiptoes, Conjurations, ‘ Answer all my Expostulations. ‘ For Murders, Incest, Thefts and Rapes, ‘ Tell me who have made Escapes? ‘ I'le pull Jove by the Beard, and drive ‘ All his Company before me, dead or alive. ‘ I'le make the Fury-Alecto, skip, ‘ With a fierce Satyr's knotty Whip.

‘ It is our special Wills and Pleasures, ‘ Forthwith to observe all our Measures. ‘ Upon pain of high Displeasures, ‘ To deliver up all our hid and lost Treasures. ‘ From the Center of both Poles, ‘ From all dark skulking Holes. ‘ From the bottom of the Waves, ‘ From rotten Sepulchres and Graves.

‘ From Lakes and Woods, and Desart Sands, ‘ Mountains and Vallies in all Lands. ‘ From the Dungeon of Hell, ‘ And you that in Aery Regions dwell. ‘ Take all the Word of Command, ‘ Before our awful Presence stand. ‘ Come up, come down, you Hellish Rout, ‘ Follow our steps, never give out.

‘ All the Jolly Teutons and Franks, ‘ Never yet plaid such mad Pranks. ‘ As long as our Senses ne're fail us, ‘ Never think to over-hale us. ‘ Our Spells, Charms, and Incantations, ‘ Turn you from your lofty Stations. ‘ We'l clamber to your stately Halls, ‘ And toss you down like Tennis-Balls.

‘ Is Justice fled to you, send her down, ‘ We lack her amongst them of the Long-Gown. ‘ Rule you aloft amongst your selves, ‘ Domineer over Hags and Elves. ‘ We'l make you do as we please, ‘ Or you shall live at little Ease. ‘ If you won't yield, to do so, or so, ‘ Have at you all, down you must go.

‘ You're glad to lick the Fat, and suck the Blood, ‘ Of Beasts, that are for you too good. ‘ Yield, O yield, you Tyrant Pride, ‘ Your Hogen Mogens are defy'd. ‘ Come down from aloft, Come up from below, ‘ Whither we please, Run and Go.

‘ Ye hungry Gods are glad of Collations, ‘ From our Fryings and Fumigations. ‘ But down your Altars go, your Temples fall, ‘ 'Tis in our power to starve you all. ‘ We'l be Gods too our selves, away, ‘ We have a mind to go to play. ‘ Do as we bid you, never frown, ‘ We'l clamber up and pull you down.

‘ Know that our Sect did never love you, ‘ And that we are a Power above you. ‘ Our Charms and Spells, and Incantations, ‘ Are more than all your Divinations. ‘ For Fashions sake y'have been ador'd, ‘ But ye shall be as much abhor'd. ‘ Look to your selves, I come, I come, ‘ And all my Crew, make room, make room.

‘ Make never so strong a Plea, ‘ I'le bind y'all fast in the Red-Sea. ‘ To do your Enemies a Favour, ‘ I'le tye you to your good Behavour: ‘ And tho ye flourish in your Prime, ‘ I'le make you stay and wait my Time.

‘ Come Spirits, when I call, rowze up amain, ‘ What will you do for the King of Spain?

‘ When you're took upon Suspicion, ‘ What will you do for the Lords of the Inquisition? ‘ If the Pope or the Turk lacks, ‘ Empty all your poyson'd Sacks: ‘ Or I'le hang y'up upon Tainters or Tacks, ‘ And proclaim you all for Quacks.

‘ We'l march and knock at Hell-Gates, ‘ Enter, and turn out all your Mates. ‘ Take possession of your Rooms, ‘ And bury you up close in Tombs. ‘ In a word, We'l level all your Towers, ‘ And rifle you of all your Powers. ‘ When we have knockt you all i'th' Head, ‘ We will command all in your stead.

‘ Take Quarters, while you may, yield or dye, ‘ These two ways, we're resolv'd to try: ‘ For I'de have you all to know, ‘ Ye shall and must come to my Bow. ‘ Such is the force of a damn'd Spell, ‘ To turn you out, and stop up Hell. ‘ Give up quickly, do what we lack, ‘ Or 'tis decreed to make Hell crack.

‘ As were the Giants to Mankind, ‘ Such to you, you shall us find. ‘ Do then, I say, as we would have ye, ‘ O•• all the Powers of Hell can't save ye. ‘ O how the pitiful Ghosts shake, ‘ At our Threatnings, how they quake? ‘ Because they know they cannot stand, ‘ Except they stoop to our Command.

‘ You that love to be called Gods, ‘ Shall like Slaves be whipt with Rods. ‘ Foolish Mortals use to fear you, ‘ When you fall they shall Jeer you. ‘ You know when I please to use my Power, ‘ I can destroy you every Hour. ‘ When we find you in Transgression, ‘ We can bring you to Confession.

‘ Have at you, once for all, ‘ We'l make you on us for Mercy call. ‘ Except you strive to make me your Friend, ‘ I say, your Power is at an end. ‘ This of Mine is the most working Spell, ‘ That e're was sent to Heaven or Hell. ‘ We'l take your Brass, Silver, and Gold Mettals, ‘ And melt 'um down to Pots and Kettles. ‘ That which now an Idol makes, ‘ Shall serve for Pispots and for Jakes.

‘ Your Silk and Tissue Robes we'l burn, ‘ Or them into Fools Coats turn. ‘ The World shall know you're Stocks and Stones, ‘ Or nothing else, but Dead mens Bones. ‘ You call your selves Planets and Stars, ‘ That are but Sepulchral Jars: ‘ Crocks and Dust, Mummy at best, ‘ Yet you would be ador'd and blest.

‘ The Cheat's found out, the Truth to tell, ‘ No such Gods are in Heaven or Hell. ‘ Learn then, us Witches to adore, ‘ Such Gods as you shall be Gods no more, ‘ That are no better than Rogue and Whore.

‘ From henceforth Priests put up your Pipes, ‘ With us in Markets go sell Tripes. ‘ A company of rascally Canters, ‘ That set up the Trade of Inchanters.

‘ Ne're think to cheat the World more, ‘ You grow rich, and we grow poor. ‘ You are the dissembling Wights, ‘ Cheating us with Familiar Sprites. ‘ Never was such a Reformation, ‘ Practis'd in any Generation.

‘ Mortals, fear the Daemons no more; ‘ But be afraid of Rogue and Whore. ‘ Those are the Furies, those the Fiends, ‘ That appear to be your Friends, ‘ And are all for their own Ends. ‘ Spare your Altars and your Gifts, ‘ All these are but pitiful Shifts; ‘ I have given them all their Lifts.

‘ From henceforth, ye honest Slaves, ‘ Arm your selves 'gainst Rogues and Knaves. ‘ He that will be an Honest man, ‘ Let Devils hurt him, if they can. ‘ Never fear Stocks or Stones, ‘ Never worship Dead mens Bones. ‘ Never be more daunted by Elves, ‘ The Devils are amongst your selves, ‘ More or less, in Folio's or Twelves.

‘ A company of silly Apes, ‘ Be no more scar'd by Nocturnal shapes. ‘ Princes and Generals give gifts like Fools, ‘ To Apollo's Three-Foot-Stools.

‘ This was the Scab, this was the Itch, ‘ To make Kings poor, and Priests rich; ‘ Was there ever such a Tearing Witch? ‘ Witchcraft by Witchcraft is smother'd, ‘ Witchcraft by Witchcraft is discover'd.

‘ For this purpose, I have sent out Roisters, ‘ To find out these grand Impostors, ‘ And drag them out of their Cells and Cloisters. ‘ And send 'um posting to their doom, ‘ For Honest men to make room. ‘ Honesty, I dare say, ‘ From all carries the Bell away.

‘ The true Witchcraft is Hypocrisie, ‘ And every thing that is a Lye. ‘ I have prov'd the greatest Spy, ‘ That ever found out Villany. ‘ For I have garbled every Sect, ‘ That ever did the World Infect.

‘ Let's ha' no more of these Tricks hereafter, ‘ To cheat every honest Son and Daughter. ‘ Hitherto Knaves have made it their Laughter, ‘ But I'le send 'um to the Slaughter. ‘ This is my piercing Wit, ‘ Which a Philosopher could never hit; ‘ Put 'um all upon the Spit. ‘ Let all the Ranks of Rogues and Knaves, ‘ Be posted from Gibbets to Graves.

‘ At Witches hitherto the Rout, ‘ Use to throw Stones, Jeer and Flout; ‘ Till burnt, or hang'd, would not give out.

‘ 'Tis to be hop'd they'l spare us now, ‘ And look better to the Pen and Plow. ‘ I have been an observing Ranger, ‘ Where's the least shew, there's the most Danger; ‘ Have a care of the Dog i'th' Manger.

‘ Alas, we have done petty Harms, ‘ What think y' of Gowns and Gens d' Arms? ‘ O this Steel, O these Gowns, ‘ O these Leathern Clowns! ‘ O these Men of Wit, ‘ The Golden Mark how they hit! ‘ We are ugly, poor and old, ‘ We did never shine in Gold; ‘ But we have been basely bought and sold.

‘ If we had got but the true knack, ‘ We should have Bowl'd at the Gold-Jack. ‘ This Trick the Devil found, ‘ Shews us all the true Ground. ‘ Defame, Lie, Rob, Murder, Whore; ‘ What can Witches do more? ‘ Nay, tho the World at them doth grutch, ‘ I never knew them do so much.

‘ Alas, we go slowly, upon Crutches, ‘ They fly, and take you in their Clutches: ‘ Keep close to your Callings, if you be wise, ‘ And beware of Saints in disguise. ‘ But at last we shall out-wit 'um, ‘ Or the Devil shall out-split 'um. ‘ In all my Born I ne're cou'd abide 'um, ‘ But tell the World where they use to hide 'um. ‘ I take him for an excellent Setter, ‘ That Preaches by the Spirit, and acts by the Letter▪

‘ Ten thousand Plots to my One they have hatcht, ‘ But now, I think, they were ne're were so well macht, ‘ As in this Satyr I have patcht. ‘ Yet all I go by, is by Books and by Fame, ‘ And for it my Satyr has got an ill Name; ‘ But his Honest desire is Mischief to tame. ‘ My Satyr henceforth would confine to his Den, ‘ And never more come amongst wicked Men.

‘ They have try'd him so long with their Sins, ‘ That he too often frets and grins. ‘ He's tyr'd with skipping and whipping about, ‘ Among the Rascal, Revel Rout. ‘ I'de fain be quiet too, if you please, ‘ Reform, and I'le send him his Writ of Ease.

‘ The Scholar will say, in his Execration, ‘ He finds me too often change my Fashion. ‘ Sometimes I'am a Devil, and the Devil I paint; ‘ Sometimes I appear in the shape of a Saint. ‘ A second Guzman, He or She, ‘ A Knave and an Honest man be. ‘ I am all Villany, I confess, ‘ But I love to go in an honest dress; ‘ I hope, I'm Rogue ne're the less.

‘ Only I am a great Painter of Faces, ‘ Giants and Dwarfs of all Ranks and Races, ‘ Ambling and Trotting in all Paces. ‘ By this you may know, what is good or bad, ‘ And where both are to be had. ‘ If you choose the best, I'le be glad, ‘ I confess, Knaves have made me mad. ‘ All Grace I am long since past, ‘ But you may be sober, honest ande hast.

‘ In this Glass all Faces I show, ‘ An Honest man from a Knave you may know. ‘ Still I teach Honesty, I say, ‘ Tho it be the clean contrary way. ‘ When you see I'am a Fool, if your Wits you don't lose, ‘ I hope the Fairest you will choose. ‘ My Instructions are good and ample, ‘ Tho I give a bad Example.

‘ However I'am in a Disguise, ‘ To commend Vertue, I am so wise. ‘ A wicked Witch may open your Eyes, ‘ The Devil will teach you to Sacrifice. ‘ By good Doctors you refuse to be Taught, ‘ Try, for this once, one that is Naught. ‘ That is in Practise, but teaches True, ‘ And so you may give the Devil his due.

‘ In all this Race Virtue offers a Prize, ‘ Tho she come in a Fools Disguise; ‘ Tis a most rare Enterprize. ‘ You're a great Fool, if you won't see, ‘ You're a great Knave, if you won't agree; ‘ You shall be no Witch for me. ‘ Say once, you were to Honesty turn'd, ‘ By Witches, that deserv'd to be hang'd and burn'd.

‘ 'Tis a good Conversion, by bad Means, ‘ A Black sometimes a White man cleans. ‘ A kicking Cow has good Spenans, ‘ Some body knows what Some body means. ‘ Among Tares good Wheat gleans, ‘ I've always bid you have a care of Beans.

‘ If Angels can't force you from Evil, ‘ Hell may, and the fear of a Devil; ‘ For my part, I love to be Civil.

‘ Any ways, if you can, get to be good, ‘ When hungry, from the hands of a Slut take Food. ‘ This is more than a Tale of a Tub, ‘ Have at a good Cast, Rub a Rub a Rub. ‘ I was always a Good Fellow, ‘ I love the Man that will sometimes be Mellow, ‘ But I cannot endure the Rogue that is Yellow. ‘ Surely, rather than make your self a Starver, ‘ Of good Meat, for once, let a Witch be your Car∣ver.

‘ If I mean no good, you may mean well, ‘ By me good from bad you may spell. ‘ And the more you see Baseness increase, ‘ The more you may love Goodness, if you please. ‘ Never give the Devil his Ease, ‘ While others love War, do you love Peace. ‘ Chuse the Better, refuse the Worse, ‘ Take the Blessing, and leave the Curse; ‘ Say, you were taught it by your Witch Nurse.

‘ Say, you met with a Witch of late, ‘ That brought you from Hell to Heaven Gate: ‘ And there she left you, and you went in, ‘ This was Joan Silver Pin: ‘ Fair without, and foul within, ‘ That went through thick and thin. ‘ Who at last dy'd in a String, ‘ Prognosticated by Almanack Wing.

‘ So Vice has alwaies a Deadly Sting, ‘ Which Rogues at last to Hell does bring. ‘ At which for Joy, I dance and sing, ‘ And all the Bells in the Town shall Ring. ‘ Let them count one for their Friend, ‘ That have brought 'um to this End.

‘ Thus I've took pains to make you understand, ‘ What belongs to a Witches Command. ‘ Who so fit as Cacodaemons. ‘ T'unravel the Snarles of their Fellow Epistemons? ‘ Thus we have you Astral Daemons all at a Bay, ‘ Stir if you dare, if we bid you stay. ‘ But if by chance our Project fails, ‘ We'l cease Conjuring, and tell Tales.