Canidia, or the Witches :: :: University of Virginia Library

Lack you a Thousand Pound Wench,
To lift you to the Coram-Bench;
Court her Ghostly Father, she's Demure,
And you have her Cock-sure.
Lack you to drive a subtle Trade,
Mount, ride your Horse to a Jade;
To Conventickling now or never,
And you are made a Man for ever.

Would you climb to high Degree,
Fee a Thaïs lustily;
Greaze her Servants, build her Bowers,
And all Corinth shall be yours.
Catamits or Bardash Toys,
Dainty content of Girls or Boys:
The Stews of Venice is the same
With the Long-Gallery of Amsterdam.

Lack you Glass Eyes, or Painted-Faces,
Bumbasts, Iron-Stays, or Laces;
Fair Sets of Teeth, Bridges or Noses,
Palats or Plump Breasts, soft as Roses;
Silver Hands, or Wooden Stumps,
For Arms or Legs, or larger Rumps;
Or any other Secret Ware,
We can fit you to a Hair.

A Chair-Man, or a Sequestrator,
Committee-Man, or Agitator;
The Naked Wight, or Tub-Divider,
The Stool, the Bench, or Stage-Bestrider.

These are brave Fellows, the rest are Fools,
That plod and puzzle in the Schools.
We'l shew you a nearer way to rise
To honour, than by Sacrifice.

Cromwel, Bradshaw, Peters, Pride,
Cook, Axtel, Okey, Ironside;
Chastel, Clement, Revilliac,
Fitz-harris, Pick'ring; do you lack
Furies, the strangling Dwarfs or Mutes,
Assasin-Banditi-Brutes,
We can furnish you, live or dead,
To do your business at Board or Bed.

The Plaugues of Europe, Goths and Vandals,
Huns, Heruli, those Northern Scandals;
Loiola's, d' Alva's, Romanenses,
(Hugonots and Albigenses,
John Hus, Jerom of Prague,
Innocents by them betray'd,)
Zisca shall bang them with his Bum,
When his Skin shall be made a Drum.

Popish, Presbyterian Trade,
Traytors all in Masquerade;
Plots and Sham-Plots, Whigs and Tories,
That trouble us with sad Stories;
Grebner, Lilly, Nostre-dames,
Whiggish Packt Juries, Ignoramus:
Let the cause be what it will,
It shall be Billa Vera still.

Twelve Godfathers, Good Men and True, can
Create a Knave, or an Honest man;

Guilty, or Not guilty make,
For Fear, or Love, or Hatred's sake.
Any thing to end or promote Strife,
Bribe to the Death, or to the Life;
Our Lives, Wives, Children, Fortunes lye
At one Rogues turning of a Dye.

He'l Swear ye through a Milstone, Lye
From the Earth's Center to the Sky.
He'l split y' a Hair, and ever after
Sink ye between Wind and Water.
Give you a Broad-side, Board ye, rake ye,
Hall ye, burn ye, stem ye, take ye;
Bear-up, luff, or tack-about,
In all Winds and Weathers, in or out.

Like Proteus, change to every shape,
Lion, Lamb, Fox, Dog or Ape;
Drink ye all Waters, swallow Death,
And yet never be out of breath.
Turn him every way and wind him,
But true you shall never find him.
He's every thing for what you gave him,
To do or undo, as you'd have him.

These are but Knights o'th' Post and Petty-Foggers,
Bumbaily Slaves and dull Plow-Joggers;
'Twould vex a Man to starve or hang
By such, fit for nought but to bang.
Give us the Equivocating Proctors,
The sublime Reservation Doctors;
The lofty Rosicrucian strains,
That purchase Kingdoms for their pains.

Hang Dammy-Boys, Stiletto-Blades,
Porters, Carmen, Assassinates.
The Wits, the Wits, the State Divines,
Loretta, Compostella Shrines;
The Rota, or the Areopagus,
Apollonius, or Simon Magus;
A Felton, or Ravilliac's Hand,
A Massanello's Command.

The Man in Hair-Cloth, the bald Crown,
Devours the Riches of the Town;
For all his Cords, Sack and Hair-dressing,
Lords and Ladies must ask him Blessing.
A Crosier, Miter, Triple Crown,
Scepters and Diadems pull down.
This is Cheating with a Witness,
Betwixt Religion and Fitness.

The rest are Mongrel Curs, that Bark,
But dare not Bite, save in the dark.
Pitiful Buffoons, and Bumkin Boors,
Send 'um to truck amongst the Moors.
Give us the Renegado Blades,
That drive the Turk or Jewish Trades.
What's a pimping Shark or Rook?
Let's die bravely by the Book.

'Tis we prompted the ugly Moor,
To bar up the Castle-door;
Ravish the Lady, Lord comes home,
Slave mounts to th' upper Room,
Murders his Children 'fore his face;
Begging to spare his younger Race,
He yields, if he will cut off his Nose;
The Father did so; the Slave chose

To kill the last Child, throws him down,
And himself split upon the ground.

Th' Italian threats his Friend to kill,
Except he swear aginst his will;
To save his life, he swore, was sham'd;
Then die, says he, Villain, and die damn'd!
A Bigot, to revenge his Brothers death
Arms Cap-a-pee, foams out of breath;
Ceases not to Swear and Swagger,
Till h'as the Murdrers Heart or point Dagger.