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

THE WITCHES.

CANTO I.

MAke not any great Inquiry, Philosophi docent Nihil Scire. To a hollow Trunk lay close your Ear, There's a Chain fastned to Jove's Chair. Soul of Universe wheels about the Primum Mobile, The Spheres in Consort sing Nobile. The longest Sword, the most overreaching Wit, Get, and dispose Rights as they think fit.

Find a Staff to beat a Dog, Get a Butcher to kill a Hog. Jura negat sibi nata (Pompey sings,) Nihil non arroga Armis, say Kings. Some Negatives may have Sense, The best Right, is the Present Tense.

Mercurius Trismegistus in his Pimander, Observe how strangely his Wits do wander; You can scarce know a Goose from a Gander:

And I dare lay an even Stake, 'Tis as hard to discover a Duck from a Drake. Give him good store of Cock-Broth and Gelly, That reckons up Happiness by the Belly.

Facile credimus, quod volumus; Difficile facimus, quod nolumus. Quicquid Libet, Licet; Quicquid in Buccam venit dicit, Cum dira Libid•• moverit Inguen, Fall to a Goose, or a Turky-Cock Pinguem.

The Poets Creed, Three hundred Joves, Gods of all sorts of Hatreds and Loves. Apollo drove Admetus's Kine, The back of Europa's Bull did shine. Neptune was Laomedon's Mason; Medea slew Children of her Husband Jason. Jupiter in the Scene was a Droll, But was worshipped in the Capitol.

The Vulgar by their Gods were betray'd, To burn Men, till a Plague was stay'd. The Judgment of the Angurs Bench, Was to sacrifice a Yellow-hair'd Wench. Apollodorus offered a rich Tunick and Pall, To Socrates while he drank up his Gall: And to wrap him in, when dead he should fall; But the dead Corps, was not Socrates, All.

Mens cujusque est quisque, or Every one's All, The Better Part, we the Person call. Pluto always us'd a Hospitable Bowl, And Aristotle had a dry Soul.

Is a dry Soul most Wise? Tell me not such Rowzing Lies. Some Souls may sink deep in a Slough, Some brave Generals have come from the Plough.

Quis docuit Psittaco suum 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉? Never let an Eunuch Marry. Poets are Men of great Parts, The Belly is a Master of Arts. Variety of Wits, Fine, Search for in Coelius Rhodigine. Sun and Moon are Hermophradites; Apollo 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Lights.

Veioves, Oromazes, Praestigiators, Idols of divers Forms and Natures: For bloody Altars, Babes unborn, Are from their Mothers Bellies torn. Lust and Victims of Humane Blood, Solemn Devotions made good.

Menogenes, old Pompey's Cook, Exactly bore his Masters Look; Publicius for his Son was took: So the basest Slips, by Midwives Lies, Are Ingrafted into Noble Families. An Elephant with a huge Proboscis, Non est longum, à quo nihil demere possis.

〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 plena, Is a Sorcerer's Catilina. Fasten your Gods in Chains to the Wall, For fear they should run away, or fall.

Bar them up with Brazen Doors, Lest they should run abroad to Whores. I remember a Time, when the Tutelar gods In a Counter-scuffle fell at odds.

Marcellus's Olive-yard took a flight, And fled over the way in a dark Night: For these and such like Fables, Magick was Capital, by the Twelve Tables. Hercules Labours, so famous in Rhimes, Is the course of the Sun through the Twelve Signs, The true Ancile, or Palladium, Was brought by Aeneas from Troy to Latium.

The Plots of Livia were Mysterious, To poyson Augustus and set up Tiberius. Julia his Daughter, and his Niece were both Whores, Sordid Agrippa was turn'd out a Doors. Caius and Lucius their Father Try'd, When in Twelve Months they both dy'd. Those Men, said he, lead happy Lives, That die without Children, or live without Wives.

In such black Deeds you must understand, Witches evermore deal under-hand. Wind-Mill headed Egypt turn'd to all sorts of Gods, Steady Rome whipt them with all sorts of Rods. The unlucky Ape got among the Pots, And overturn'd all Dodona's Lots. Aristotle in his Works lay forgotten, Long while after he was dead and Rotten.

Saturnus expell'd by his Son a long Spatium, For fear of a Rebel lay hid in Latium.

Nero's Quinquennium was a Calm, It turn'd into Blood, that was formerly Balm. Many a Lye, many a Fable, Is engrav'd on the Souls Razed Table. Mensa Philosophica was full of good Fare; But Coena Pontificia was the most Rare.

Judge you, a Toad or a Rat Fly at a Man, Run away from a Cat. The Witches were more Famous in Samaria, Than ever in Lancashire or Bavaria. Should I follow Meanders of Sophisters Race, They would lead me a Wild-Goose Chace.