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

Come let's muster up good Fellows,
Of whose great Wits we have been Jealous:
Our Policy to keep them under,
Is by keeping them asunder.
Shrewd Lads, I'le assure you, to keep them too,
We had very much ado:
But we have brought them to our Bow
Very well, as the World doth know.

Mahomet, Machiavel, march in the Van,
With Bajazet and Tamberlan;
Piccolomini, Bethlem-Gabor,
Screwd themselves into our Favour;
Duke d' Alva, Parma, Don Diego,
Don Quixot and Don Quivedo;
Gondomar and Count Olivarez,
Consulted often with the Fairies.

Mufti's Musselmans in Green,
De Wit, Richilieu and Mazarine;
Spinola, Medina, Don Hurtada,
Commanders of the Spanish Armada;
Americus, Columbus, Cortez,
Cut their way with Aqua-fortis;
Oliver and Massanello,
Where can you find their Fellow?

There's a pack of Rascals more,
With Bradshaw, stand behind the Door;
There let 'um stand, keep 'um out
Among the Rascal-Rebel-Rout.
Enter the fine Wits, Lombard, Scotus,
Suarez, Occam, these promote us:
Paracelsus had a reaching Brain,
Helmont, Jacob Behem, a stately Strain.
Peter Monk, Tiresia Nun,
To reckon all, I should ne're have done.

All these, and many more,
Our Pupils in the days of Yore:
All Ages, in their Paronism Fits,
Will produce the like mad Wits.
These help us in our Fits of Scurvy,
To turn the World clean Topsie-turvy:

Then send 'um all packing to Hell,
They shall not bear away the Bell.

Cæsar Borgia, Barbarossa,
Heapt Pelion upon Ossa;
Alaric, Attila, Narses, Marius,
Scipio, Cataline, Bellizarius;
Gracchus, Hannibal, Gustavus,
Attempted often to out-brave us:
They had of our Pride such a Leaven,
To ruine Earth, and threaten Heaven;
But we took 'um by the Crown,
Pelted 'um, and pull'd 'um down.

We read of Pen-Dragon and Sforza,
Vortimer, Hengist and Horsa;
Brave Prince Arthur in the Fable,
With all his Knights of the Round-Table:
Cadwallader too, for his Inches
As good as Iron sides, or the Black Princes.
What think ye of the Leyden Taylor,
David George, Hacket, Nailor,
Melchior Hoffmannus, Knipper-Dolling?
Upon Spires their Tongues hang lolling;
Jack Straw, Tiler, gone a Catter-waulling.

Here's a Ribble-rabble indeed,
Of Pigmies, send 'um to the Cranes to feed.
These are the Bag and Baggage of the Gang,
Fit for nothing but to Hang.
Jack-anapes, Dandi-prats, Punchianello's,
Send 'um to blow Vulcan's Bellows.

The last Invention against us,
Was to out-Witch us, and out-Saint us.
By these ways, to our shame be't spoke,
They hew'd down the Royal-Oak!
The Comfort is, there's none Relented,
Nor one of them the least Repented:
They thought to have the World in a String,
But we gave them all a Fling;
So we trepand 'um and mumpt 'um,
'Till we quite and clean crampt and crumpt 'um

Now we are quiet, Lord it alone,
Our greatest Enemies are gone.
Worship us all ye Idol-makers,
Hells Factors, Brokers, Undertakers.
Beelzebub's Flies swarm and buz about us,
These Venom Hornets threaten to rout us;
But we'l fire 'um out of their Holes,
I tell you we cannot carry Coals.

I'le warrant you we'l keep our Stations,
And stand our ground against all Nations.
We are so high-flown and pufft,
We scorn to be baffled or hufft.
Judges and Generals Stings are gone,
They scare none, but Cowards of the Throng:
Undaunted we bear up 'gainst all
That themselves, Kings or Princes call.