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

Mortals, I have found out an Hermaphrodite Beast.
The Devourer of all the rest.
Interest and Obligation,
The great Idol of every Nation.
It never had my Approbation,
All the cry hath been against us Hags,
To conquer us, is all their Brags.
I'le prove it by Act of Parliament,
The Hollanders shall give their Consent,
That all the Hounds have lost their Sent.

Willingly, willingly, I say,
Really they hunt for their Prey;
All their God is their Pay:
There ran the Hare away.
Relations all are Nothing,
They aim at more than Meat, Drink and Cloathing.
Not for need, so much as State,
This is the true meaning of Fate,
This is Witchcraft of the highest Rate.

This is the Mistress they court,
For her they fight, labour and sport.
To her they all in Troops flock,
But not to take her in her Smock.
At her rich Dowry they aim,
To this they lay their chiefest claim.
Oblige by all means every man,
Witch, Divel or Dam,

Catch, that catch can,
Though this Life be but a Span,
They would live ever, every man.
So all our Trade is done,
To Madam Interest they all run.

The plodding Student pretends Art,
But he Acts the Gaining Part.
Let him profess what he will,
This is his greatest Skill.
Mortification, Self-Denyal,
Is but a counterfeit Trial.
He that most Sanctity pretends,
When all comes to all, is for his own Ends,

For this he his Brain spends,
This only makes him amends,
All else are but seeming Freinds.
The truest Friend, is Self,
For Rule, Honour, Power and Pelf.
How the great dissembler smiles,
When his Confident he beguiles?
For this he travel so many Miles,
And leaps over so many Styles.

Right or Wrong, so it be but Gain,
He counts all worth his Pain.
Then, of Witches think no more,
Worship this great whore;
We'l all stand behind the Door.
Rake together Golden Dirt,
Of us you 'r more afraid than hurt.
See how they laugh in their Sleeves,
Are afraid of none but Theeves,
This is that my Heart grieves.

This is the only Plot,
For this, all others are forgot.
For this all We must go to th' Pot,
Except the beastly drunken Sot.
But such as are well in their wits,
Will have a care of such mad Fits.

These are the Mysterious Intreagues,
These are the close Bargains and Leagues.
These are the Politick Colleagues,
For this they drop all their Beads.
All Preach and Plead for this Cause,
The true Construction of all Laws;
They that deny this are Jack-Daws.

Mark well how deadly Foes combine,
And fall out about Mine and Thine.
Caw me, and I'le Caw thee,
Goes over all the World we see,
Tho they ne're so much disagree.
For this, Rogues hang one another,
For this each others Faults smother.
Feast together, drink and whore,
Turn each other out a door.

No Witches, or Devils do any such things,
We all Reign together, like Lords and Kings.
This not Gain, but Pleasure brings.
Far better than such greedy things.
Certainly they can ne're be good,
Whose Souls are made of Dirt and Mud,
As ours are of Spirits and Blood.

I can't but laugh at the Poor Scholar,
That for his Books loses many a Dollar.

Alas, poor hungry Sinner,
He knows not where to get his Dinner.
And when he is old,
He's fain to study in the Cold.
He was ne're made of my Mold,
If I han't my Will, I rail and scold.
He keeps neither Whore nor Mis,
But his old Bed-maker Cis.

The Gentile Scholar I admire,
He's fit to be a Lord or 'Squire;
He's Honest, therefore he shall rise no higher.
'Tis pity, for he has a gallant Soul.
Yet give him leave to trowl the Bowl.
But he scorns Baseness, never grutches,
If he can keep out of our Clutches.
If all were of my mind, I'de spare him,
But they are not able to bear him.

For he has more Honesty and Wit,
Than the brave Gallants could ever hit.
I know none can have a more generous Mind,
Than the true Scholar in his kind;
But how few of these shall you find?
I don't value the Mongrel Brood,
Of smattering Scepticks, they want good Blood.
They ne're took enough of the Caballine Fountain,
Nor climb'd to the Top of Parnassus Mountain.

The States are given to understand,
That Witches deal under-hand,
And get into great Command.
But they regard not those that slit Cases,
And force their Clients with brazen Faces,
In Equity to run Ten years Races.

When they are once got into their Traces,
To their Everlasting Disgraces.

When they are once got warm in their Geer,
To the North Foreland they will carry you cleer.
And leave you under the Great Bear,
In Frost and Snow to take the Air,
And yet you must say, they deal fair:
But be sure of Witches ye have a Care,
All the danger lies there.
It makes every honest Man stare;
But if ye be wise, Come no more there.

The burnt Child dreads the Fire,
If you won't break your Neck, climb no higher.
Leap over Steeples and Spires,
And sing Anthems in the Quires,
And you shall have all your desires.
When you are far off from danger, come no nigher,
When you're all a cold, cling close to the Fire,
Save the King, and hang up the Cryer.

Never trust your Self-denyers.
Tho they be Nuns, Monks or Friars.
Have a care of Brambles and Briars,
Especially of Spirit Triars.
Sit not too long at other Folks Fires,
'Tis a Mercy we are not all Squires.

Interest, thou'rt a God to all,
Thou relievest Great and Small,
Every one comes and goes at thy Call.
Interest, thou'rt a God to me,
I am secured from Fate by thee.

Thou art that great Leviathan,
That turns as quick as Cat i'th' Pan.
Interest for Wealth and State,
Takes Obligation for her Mate.

If Interest comes by Pains or Blood,
Virtue or Friends, 'tis very good.
Obligation will never fail,
Continually wags his Tail:
Evermore crouches and cringes,
Is never clear off o'the Hinges.
Looks fair upon all, and smiles,
And every Mothers Son beguiles.

Obligation gets all, spends all,
Keeps all, hurts all, mends all.
Is, and is not of all shapes,
Imitates, mocks, like Apes.
Welcomes, and Curses all Visitors,
Curses, and Complements the Lords Inquisitors.
Dam ye Rogues, I can never be quiet,
You come to consume all my Diet.

Dear Sirs, you're the last Friends I thought on,
To greater Friends you hope to be brought on.
Makes 'um drunk, and sends 'um going,
Always fawning, always woing,
And yet always undoing.
Flattery smooths and grinds,
Is of Ten thousand hundred Minds.
Acts Villanies of every kind,
All his work is to scatter and bind.

She spreads and turns her hands, if you mind her,
Looks before her, and behind her.

You shall never know where to find her,
Tho you set her loose, or bind her.
This is your obliging Man,
That loves and hates all he can.
Nunquam Idem, Wild or Tame,
Is never in a right Frame.

Sometimes 'tis calm and smooth weather,
Then blusters, as if Heav'n and Earth came together.
Be made, or marr'd, choose you whither,
Your Shoes are made of running Leather.
This cannot be an honest Spirit,
Disobligation and Merit,
At this rate, who shall inherit?
The Falsifying Art is all,
We can good or evil call.
Lye and swear upon the Stall,
Hang out Religion's Sign for all.

Interest for a piece of Bread,
Will knock the honestest Man i'th' Head.
Wherever you find good Feeding,
Take it, 'tis a sign of good Breeding.
But wheresoever all is poor,
All is nothing but Rogue and Whore.
Eat 'um out of house and home, and come there no more,
But wherever there is good store,
Put 'um to't, sing old Rose, make the Welkin roar.

Interest leaves all in the lurch,
Goes to Meetings, goes to Church.
O thou great Witch, both cruel and kind!
The Ludibrium of Mankind!
From the Vatican to the Plow,
We're beholden to such as you.

Play fast and loose, In and In, In and Out,
Cut Capers when you have the Gout.
Never Trust, never Doubt,
Never be weary, never give out,
Run all the Points of the Compass about.

Set in, and set out, as nimble as Dogs,
Keep Company with Toads and Frogs,
Dance over the Mountains, and over the Bogs.
Such Disobligations are base,
That never dare to come Face to Face.
Into all Companies rush,
Never be daunted, never blush,
And for no man care a rush.

Brazen it out stoutly, swell, look big,
Fear no man, Tory nor Whig.
Cry up Honesty, cry down Lies,
That man that dares say, Black's my Eyes,
I'le make him Hell's Sacrifice.
I'de fain see that Son of a Whore,
That dares tax me less or more.
The Noble Moon, that makes no stir,
Hath the Fate to be barkt at, by every Cur.

Was there ever such an ugly Drab,
Such a damn'd Hypocritical Scab?
Have a care of a Kiss and a Stab,
Just such another as Queen Mab.
Therefore to your self look,
She'l cheat you by hook or by crook,
You shall be taken in a Nook,
Either with, or without Book.
For all Palats she's a rare Cook,
Who such damn'd Falsities can brook?

We run or go, stop or stand,
We do all at your Command;
To destroy you under-hand,
Except you mean to be soundly bang'd.
When Interest has broke a Banker,
He must kiss her Hand, and thank her.
If she hath brought him to beg,
Bow your Body, make a Leg.

'Tis a Favour, you must thank her,
Sent her sweet, when she smells ranker,
Let her drink up the Tears of the Tanker.
When she smiles or frowns, you must Blink,
When she betrays, you must wink.
Call her Patroness and Benefactor,
When you are Reus or Actor.
If she make you a Cuckold, over and over,
You must most of all bribe her, hug her, and love her,
Present her with Salmon, Duck, Partridge and Plover.

She shall cloath you fine and gay,
And she shall carry all away.
Still for her you must pray,
And wait upon her every day.
Do what she will, you must not gain-say,
Or else you must be forc't to run quite away.

Thou poor Rogue, for good and all,
Must be kick'd up and down like a Tennis-Ball.
Sirrah, you must collogue with all Nations,
And imitate all Fashions;
And bear all Brunts,
And take all Affronts.

Court every Rascal and Trull,
Let 'am do with you what they wull:
Or else I'le swear y'have an empty Skull,
And deserve to be jeer'd up and down for a Gull.

Wink, ye base Obligers, stroke one another,
Call your Foe, Friend or Brother,
Each others Knaveries smother.
Hug your false Friends like Apes in your Arms,
Ravish 'um by your canting Charms.
When they do you the most harms,
And rob you of all your richest Farms.

Then laugh, Slaves, in your Sleeves,
But don't ye call 'um Rogues nor Thieves.
That the eye ne're sees, the heart ne're grieves,
The Rogues are grown all as fat as Beeves.
They know they're all hated like Dogs,
Men long for their Deaths, as for fatted Hogs.
They'd as good be quite and clear hang'd out of the way,
For there's no body can give'um a good word I dare say.

And therefore I reckon those Verses of Homers,
As good as ever I learnt at St. Omers.
Τον στυγεω μεν ομως Αιδαο Πυλησι,
Ος αλλο μεν κευθει ενι στεθησσι, αλλο δε φησι.
I hate the Hypocrite to the Pit of Hell,
That thinks evil, and speaks well.

A Hypocrite's of diverse Natures,
He appears in different Statures.
A Hypocrite's never of one mind,
But is always false and kind.

A true bred Witch, rather than turn,
Martyr like, will choose to burn.

When y'have done their Bus'ness they'l deny ye,
Scorn ye, Plague ye, and defie ye.
You must make 'um a Leg, before 'um all,
When they turn you from Parlour to Hall.
And farther use you like a Widgeon,
Among the Skullions in the Kitchen.
You must be chowst, you must be ridden,
You must be coak'st, you must be chidden,
And still do as you're bidden.
Never question Right or Wrong,
To please or profit, that's the short and the long.

'Tis the bravest Trade that e're was driven,
To blend together Hell and Heaven.
To make your Bread with Ists or Leavens,
To leave all at Sixes and Sevens.
You must be ready to come or go, speak Truth or Lye,
And on every bodies Errant flye.
Fools and Knaves all do so,
'Tis all for Interest you know.

You must please, and you must be crost,
In a Blanket you must be Tost,
You must cry, Thank ye, when all's lost.
You're the Ludibrium of Nature,
You change to every size and stature.
In Earnest, or in Jest,
Rich or Poor, what likes you best:
That's the Cream of all the Jest,
To be forsworn, when brought to the Test.

You must be contented to be rub'd,
Can'd about, and handsomly drub'd,
And when they please, to be stew'd and tub'd.
In a word, you must be content to be hang'd,
And after all be content to be damn'd.
Thank 'um Rogues, against your will,
Admire, praise, and honour 'um still.
But never dare to tell Dons of their Faults,
The great Commanders of the Argonauts.
When y'have most reason to hate and fear 'um,
By all means Caress and Endear 'um.
Keep a good word for a Knave, 'tis a Charm,
An honest Man shall do you no harm.

Crawl, if you can, out of your Nest,
They'l worst you, you shall ne're be at rest.
Set a Knave upon theirs, and your Crests,
Write Knave and Fool on your own Brests,
All together you'l find the Devils Nest.
'Twas for Wealth you thought to be sped,
You'l be found a poor Rogue, when dead.

When ever you are pleas'd or crost,
Perplexed, tumbled and tost:
After all, they'l rule the Rost,
And it shall be at your own cost;
And make you glad to skip at a Pot and a Tost,
And send you to the Whipping-Post,
Even when you Caress them most.
Still, for fear, do all to please 'um,
Never trouble, or Disease 'um.
For a good Turn, Greaz 'um,
For a bad Turn, you can't Squeez 'um.

When y'have flatter'd all you can, or will,
You have shown the best of your skill,
You shall be a poor, or a rich Knave still.
I think of Flattery you'l have your fill,
There needs, for this bout, no more Grist to the Mill.
The rich Rogues are the bravest Undertakers,
The greatest Obligers and Interest makers,
Especially such as are Ranters and Quakers.

They have the power to command 'um,
And to do all Contra-Bandum,
No body dares withstand 'um.
Tho ne're so bad, there must be no chiding,
For fear, forsooth, of Disobliging.
From the South to the North Riding,
Without this, there's no living nor abiding.
And truly, to knock the Nail o'th' Head,
This it is to be well Bred.

These Hypocrites, how they look?
You may discern them without Book.
How much better are we, I'de have the World know,
Kill a Chick, a Pig, a Child, or so.
But never falsifie a Vow, O no,
Never hot and cold blow.
Endure all hardship, Frost and Snow,
Cocks on their own Dunghills crow.

Knaves from Beggars heap up Riches,
Still then there's something worse than Witches.
Something, they say, has some savour,
Bind all Rogues, if you can, to their good Behavour,
Good Wine has always a good flavour.

While Riches last, there's your God Mammon,
When lost, you may play at Back-Gammon;
Then fare well Venison, Rost Beef, and Salmon.

While health and wealth last, indulge your Pleasure,
When they're gone, Repent at liesure.
Mumble your Masses, and Jumble your Beads,
And tumble o're one anothers Heads.
Travel in Caravans to Hell,
You know your Habitation well,
When you're all gone, I'le ring out the Bell.
I shall be right glad, when you're stow'd in hold,
Where there's nothing but Fire, Snow and Cold:
And then we Witches may be the more bold,
In the mean while, to no purpose we scold.

One thing more I had like t' have quite forgotten,
For you to remember, when I am dead and rotten,
Beware of eating Herrings after they be shotten.
You must believe, as He shall believe,
Tho you laugh privately in your Sleeve.
You must resign up your Wit and Will like a Slave,
For your Patron to carry to his Grave,
And then you may say, there lies a stinking Knave,
This at last will be your Lot,
Be content, and take t'other Pot.

On both your Tombs this Epitaph shall be set,
Under this Stone, as black as Jet,
A Knave and a Fool are both very well met.
We'l secure you for telling more Tales,
Especially your Heirs Males.
Especially such as are lawfully begotten,
After they be dead and forgotten.

There is a sad Curmudgeon Elf,
A Raker together of Worldly Pelf.
He is lately arriv'd from Delph,
Call'd Don Amarado-Hurtado-Self.
Near Cosin German, or married at best.
To the great Witch, Lady Interest,
Who hath well feather'd her Nest.
Her Gentleman Usher, Obliger,
Constantly attends beside her;
For fear any Ill should betide her,
For none of the Company can abide her.

If a Client want any relief,
Of Money, Porridge, or Rost-Beef,
He is her Controller in Chief.
If any for Lands prefer a Petition,
He answers, His Lord and Lady are in a poor condition.
And he can do nothing without their Commission.
If they be never so poor or lame,
They may go away, if they can, as well as they came.

I challenge Borough-Moots and Corporations,
And all unlawful Congregations,
In all Rebellious Associations.
A few canting Tribune Makers,
Independents and Quakers.
All Factious Undertakers,
That would all be Law-Makers.
For dreyning the Ocean, Fountains and Streams,
More than the soaking Sun Beams.
Under the specious Pretences,
Of self Preservations, and self Defences.

Is not this true, that I say,
Did ye ever get the Day;
But by Money, and foul Play?
And when y'have done ye ran away.
All the Devils in Hell cou'd not make you stay,
This is true by Yea and Nay.