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

CANTO III.

You'le say, I have a brazen Face, To lead you such a Wild-Goose-Chace: To tell you so many Lies, So many Large, so many Minum Deities, Cartesian Feminine Philosophies. I've dipt my Lips in Fonte Caballino, Told more Tales than Horatio Palavicino.

Alexandrian Hypatia, Joves Daughter, Taught better Philosophy than all that came after. The rest, like Hodmadods, drew in their Poles, Like pitiful Worms crept into their Holes. The Roman State thought it no Blur, To celebrate the Funerals of a Coblers Cur. Veritas rectè Representat, Quos Jupiter vult perdere Hos Dementat.

Wot you not, how the World Rings Of Castalion, Colophon, Prophetick Springs. Oracles were took with a Spirit Dumb, Ask Questions, and the Answer is, Mum. Nicander the Wizard frighted 'um well, And Pythia was took Mad in her Cell: So all the Colledge of Priests were moapt, After they had in Delphos Secrets groapt.

Virgin Menstrua's, the Passive Stock, To the obstructed Matrix Flock. For want of the Plastick Male Seed, Rude Lumps, like Cubs, of Flesh do breed.

The Golden Waters of the Powder of Calf, Made Judas Gold-Beards to make you Laugh. So came Knaves so well to be known, When their Carret-Beards were grown.

The Load-Stone of Temporal Interest, Strains Courtesie with Conscience, all for the Best. The Idols of Devils, of sanctified Mettals, Were boldly melted into Pans and Kettles. Dull-pated Vulcan, club Footed and Fisted, Had the luck with fair Venus to be Twisted. Hyperborean Chimaera's clamber in Altum, Etsi Natura nihil agit per Saltum.

The Sun keeps the Self-same Station, And Influences ever since the Creation. The Moon hath the very same Spots in her Face, Ladies black Patches wear to her disgrace. Venus hath always had her Mole, Mercury did ever use to Droll. If the Sky would fall, we should catch Larks, In Gaming-Schools are good store of Sharks.

Hunger-gut Po••tasters, a Crew, Like Dogs lick up Blind Homer's Spew. Antipodes walk Foot to Foot, True, The Devil will be sure to have his Due. The Infallible Three-Footed-Stool, The Witty Tripos is turn'd Fool. Cybels Priests are obscene Rogues and Whores, Bacchus his Salii are turn'd out a Doors.

Alexander's Empire, for all his great Bragments, How quickly it crumbled into Fragments.

While his Captains were a Plotting, His stinking Corps lay above-ground Rotting. And he himself dyed by Potting. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Wild People are seldom 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉.

Daemons, as Old Sophies clatter, Stick close to, and feed upon Matter. But do they drink Wine or Water? I'de as lieve hear a Magpy Chatter. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Synesius sings, 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, Pretty Things. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉, I'le assure you; Believe it, or I'le ne're endure you.

So Tertullians Mistress said, Who saw Souls, (for she was a Maid,) In all colours and shapes, and was not afraid. I rather think, the Witch betray'd. Averroës tells us Wonders, That Souls are Unities and Numbers. A Colledge of Virtuosi can never display, How the Earth or Sun lay at Anchor a Day; Was it for fear he should run away?

How he curses poor Algazel, For vain Philosophy, to the Pit of Hell. The Mind, he tells him what he lackt, Not the Fancy, should be abstract. Another Blade, all in a Tatter, Made Spirits and Bodies all Matter; This 'tis to shoot 'twixt Wind and Water.

Averroës chides Avicen, In Praedicaments, from One to Ten. There is but one Transcendent Ens, From which all Numbers do commence. I'le assure you, 'tis excellent Sense, For Multitude find Mood and Tense: You may do it without Expence; No Body has hit upon it since.