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

Mexicans do strangely dote-a,
Upon their Almanack called Rota:
Of Fifty years Calculation,
For the Worlds final Termination.
Then they must break all their Pots,
And Utensils, as useless Lots;
Who can unty these knots?
Go Nine miles to such a Bull,
'Tis but next door to get a Trull.

Whither Americans came by Sea or Land,
From Tartary or China's Strand.
If they're such fools to stretch their Gartars,
And return to enlarge their Quarters;
It were better to be no Starters.
For they have room enough to dwell,
If they could see when they are well.
Besides, will they leave their Gold,
To endure Hunger and Cold?

How was Vespasian at a stand,
When a Dog brought him a dead man's Hand?
He set the Game, took Scent for Judæa,
To be the Roman Eagles Prey.
He wagg'd his Tail for Syrian Land,
An Omen, He should there Command.

At Altar, take it for a Flam,
An Heifer, forsooth, brought forth a Lamb.
But oh, the Ox, of Wonders a Million!
Came to Vespasian's Pavilion:

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Prostrating, you may see by his Eyes,
He beg'd to be a Sacrifice.
Vespasian, to Miracles enur'd,
With Clay a blind man's Eyes he cur'd.

Herodotus wisely uses,
To tell Stories by the name of Muses.
So I usurp the Witches Name,
If they lye, to take away the Shame.
He says plainly, the Tale of Troy
Was blind Homer's Fiction, that old Boy.
The Tale of Æneas and Dido,
Was Virgil's Olei putredo.

Pansas the Painter was cunning,
For a Horse tumbling, drew him running.
To save his Credit, as he was able,
Horse-heels turn'd upward, by turning the Table,
Æneas, Romulus were no Dastards,
For they were Mars and Venus Bastards.
Centaurs and Hermaphrodites may be proud,
To be begot of Ixion's Cloud.

Of Apollo, what can we conclude,
Father of Poets, for his Verses rude?
He that inspir'd a lofty Strain,
How had he such a dull Vein?
But he is silenc'd and suspended,
And all his false Prophecies ended.
But to admire, the greatest odds,
Is the Burial of all the Gods.

In Countries where they have been most fam'd,
Strange, now they're not so much as nam'd!

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And of their Names we should be to seek,
Were it not for the Days of the Week.
But still we hold it out lusty,
Tho you count us old and musty.
We understand, by Yea and Nay,
Τρια Καππα Χακιστα,
And Tria sunt Omnia.

I have travell'd too and agen,
Could ne're see Pigmies, or One-ey'd men.
Cybele was not over Chaste,
Yet her Priests must be cut short i'th' Waste.
It seems her Holiness is Wise,
None but Eunuchs must sacrifice.
The Mother of the Gods, tho by her favour,
Might be of better Behavour,
And her Rites have more good Flavour.

Old Jove kept Sol ty'd to his Bed,
Till Alcumena was fully sped.
Orpheus went down to Hell, to find
Eurydice; was fain to leave her behind,
Then to stay amongst her kind.
Ceres would have rescu'd the Rape
Of Proserpine; but she could not scape.
'Sted of returning to Mums Pap,
She chose to stay in Pluto's Lap.

What were the Ingredients of the Bole,
That intoxicated Cerberus's Pole?
Lull'd three Heads and six Eyes asleep,
Hercules drag'd him from the Deep.
Where the scowling Curs Foam,
Impregnated the Fatter Loam.

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Which breeds the Aconite Bane;
Was not this Labour in Vain?

Whither fly th' Atoms of the Day,
Or the Nightingale past May?
Confluxes of Primordial Seeds,
Are Causes of several Breeds,
Which fill the Earth with pois'nous Weeds.
Which may be good to kill the Flees,
Besides Omens and Prodigies.
Other great Lords and Ladies
Got nothing, by descending into Hades.