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

You'l say there's neither good nor bad,
Then Stoick be neither merry nor sad,
There is no Judgment to be had.
Of any thing, therefore by the same intent,
There's no Reward nor Punishment,
There's no need of Parliaments.
All is frolick, all is free,
You may be all as bold as we.

All is secure, all is well,
There's no Heaven nor Hell.
There's no Lawgiver, no Command,
No body can understand.
There is neither Wind nor Water,
Hot or Cold, no such matter,
Nothing need to be lookt after.

'Tis the most damnable Proposition,
That e're deserv'd a Prohibition.

The Law of all things is most crost,
All Labour, all Reward is lost.
There should be no hanging nor burning by right,
If Vertue and Vice be extinguish'd quite.
I have no more Will than a Horse or a Cow,
I have no more Wit than a Dog or a Sow.
Nor so much neither, for they may be taught,
In their kind, what is good or naught.

By this there's neither Poverty nor Riches,
By the same Reason there's no Witches.
There is neither Black nor White,
There is neither Day nor Night,
Nothing is in, or out of sight.
No pain, nor no delight,
No love, nor no despight.
No wrong, nor right,
Sense and Reason, Good Night!

Then there can be no Accusing,
No Choosing, nor no refusing.
You can neither sleep nor wake,
You can neither give nor take.
Nor you cannot merry make,
But you may your Wit forsake.
When there's no sorrow nor laughter,
How can good or bad luck go afore or after?
Take no care for Son or Daughter.

You can wrong none, nor none can wrong you,
'Tis a fine World to live in, if we knew how.
A short life and a pleasant,
There can be no Damage Feasant.
Burn your Books, there's no need of Reading,
Cut out your Tongues, there's no cause of Pleading.

Who'l endure to the Terms to trudge?
What Fools are we to suffer a Judge?

You can neither live nor dye,
Tell me the reason why?
I can neither affirm nor deny,
I am neither True man, nor Spy.
There is neither Fool nor Wise,
Reality, nor False disguise.
Never fear Truth nor Lyes,
You shall be troubled with no Flies.
You have no Friends nor Enemies,
You may go in any Disguise.

There is neither Toad nor Frog,
At this rate, neither Hog nor Dog.
Nothing's finisht, nothing's began,
Nothing's either Horse or Man.
The World is utterly undone,
All things fly to confusion,
And there will be no conclusion.
There is neither East nor West,
Neither Labour nor Rest:
But every thing what likes you best,
And the Devil take all the rest.

Find me out the Phœnix Nest,
In sober Sadness, or in Jest.
You can neither fast nor feast,
You are neither Man nor Beast.
There is neither Sense nor Reason,
Neither Felony, nor Treason,
Nothing is in, or out of Season.
There's no fair, nor foul Pretences,
No body Master, nor Doctor commences.

100

There is neither Dog nor Bitch,
Spirit, Hobgoblin or Witch.
There is neither Scab nor Itch,
Who dug the Devils Ditch?
Nothing's false, nothing's true,
Need never give the Devil his due.
Nothing's lost, nothing's found,
Nothing's above or under ground.

There is neither Plant nor Tree,
Down goes all Philosophy.
And the Devil take all for me,
We're never likely to agree.
This most damnable Position,
Damns the Spanish Inquisition.

Nothing's foul, nor nothing's clean,
No body knows what you mean.
Joan licks up the Platter clean,
Let her go, she's a nasty Quean.
Any thing you may do or say,
Either stop, or run away,
Need neither preach nor pray.
Neither Nakedness, nor Clothing,
All are Shadows, all or Nothing.

We nothing see, nor nothing know,
All things are above or below.
Or where they can themselves bestow,
They go neither too fast, nor to slow.
All is bak'd, or all is dough,
I feel no pain upon a blow,
It is neither Frost nor Snow.
All are Spectrums, all are Fictions,
No Harmony nor Contradictions.

101

Extatick, empty Chimera's,
Neither go from us, nor come near us,
They neither fright nor fear us.
There needs no Trade, nor Occupation,
Nor Business with any Nation.
None need keep or forgo his station,
It was never seen in this fashion,
(If there were any since the Creation.)

'Tis neither out Nettle, nor in Dock,
Put on neither Shirt nor Smock.
Neither wear Gown nor Frock,
Keep neither Hen nor Cock,
Not so much as ask me, what's a Clock?
Nothing has a Wit at will.
Because nothing can save or kill.
No going down, nor up Hill,
Eat all the Meat, and let all the Drink spill.

If all things be common, then nothing's my own,
Wherefore is the Sword then, or the Gown?
'Tis very strange News that's come to Town,
It won't sink into my empty Crown.

Nothing can empty or fill,
Nothing can run over or spill.
Bring me, I say't, no Tailor's Bill,
Do nothing with, or against your Will.
Commit nothing to Trust,
Try to undo me, and do your worst,
I shall be neither blest nor curst.
Nothing can decay or last,
Nothing's present, to come or past;
All have their Doom, from first to last.

102

Nothing is in, or out of Date,
All things are nothing, at this rate,
I can't possibly an Ace abate.
I can neither laugh nor cry,
At this pass, I can neither live nor dye,
Slaves tell me the Reason why?
Or else I will you all defie.

Ye make me mad, and yet not wild,
I'm neither without, or with Child.
I neither conquer, nor am I foyl'd,
But of all my seven senses I'm beguil'd.
I'm as very an Ass as ever Bray'd,
To believe all that's done or said,
I may as well say, I was never a Maid.

I have neither Spouse nor Bride,
Nor nothing in the 'versal World beside.
I can neither commend nor chide,
I can neither appear nor hide.
'Tis neither Ebb water, nor high Tide,
I can scarce my self abide.
Get, if you can, on the Honestest side,
And stay there, 'till I come to call you aside.

You that take upon ye to be all Kings,
I tell you, I know better things.
Come hang't, I'le put my self out of the base fit,
To strive with them that have neither Honesty nor Wit.
I'le crowd through the foolish Throng,
And sing over again my old Song.

‘'Mongst all those precious Juices,
‘That are provided for mens uses.

103

‘The principal of all is Sack,
‘Metheglin, Usquebaugh, Pontack.
‘At Revels stands Heidelberg's Tub,
‘Fiends in a Circle sit down at their Club.
‘The Slaves sing Dub-a-Dub-a-Dub,
‘I wish some body wou'd give 'um a Rub.

They sit at it close soaking,
Roaring, Yelling and croaking.
'Tis a damnable provoking,
Damming, Ramming, and Toping,
In the Suds vomiting and choaking.
Old ghastly Hags cling by their side,
Each Imp has his ugly Bride.
Every one has his Jade to ride,
Such ugly Tricks I can't abide.

Witches crow'd among the Fray,
Turning Night into Day.
Nothing the while but cheat and play,
All Civility is run away.
Roaring Boys from hence took Pattern,
Every Gull with his Slattern.
Every Jack with his Jill,
All's Grist that comes to Mill.
Every Rascal takes his fill,
Every Varlet has his Will.

All our Gallants, Lords and Sages,
Attended bravely with their Pages,
According to their States and Sages.
'Till every one is paid his Wages,
This is that my Heart enrages.

104

Witches, like Antipodes, walk on their Heads,
Sleeping they lye cross on their Beds.
Take in behind, let out before,
They have all a cross Boar;
Thus we make the Welkin roar.
Witches backward have said their Prayers,
Witches upward go down Stairs
They tune and sing all kind of Airs,
Play all Tricks in Markets and Fairs.

Witches, by Flattery and Lyes,
Creep into Noble Families.
Do more mischief, as Scouts and Spyes,
Than all their deadliest Enemies.
When they look out sharp, they Wink,
They write without Pen and Ink.

When they're cut off close by the Stumps,
They use to dance without Pumps.
Play at Cross Ruff without Trumps,
Cut Capers, and fall flat on their Rumps.
By this they get their meat and drink,
Make the Tanker and Cannikin clink,
By this I feel my Pocket chink.
Now I've told you all, I think,
I must hasten to be gone before I stink.

Hypocrite Nimiùm Garris, nimiùm Rides,
Linguæ & Fronti nulla Fides.
‘It tyres me sadly to rehearse,
‘Steddy Matter, in capering Verse.
Both ways unpleasant, Vice to oppose,
In flying Meeter, or creeping Prose.
'Tis hard holding the Devil by the Nose,
Besides, he will seldom bear Blows.

105

To deal with Atheists, that are mad,
That deny Good or Bad.
What Mortals or Dæmons are able?
That count all things but a Fable.
‘Bring me my Mare out of the Stable,
‘I'le sit no longer at the Council Table.
‘When all things go thus at random,
‘Contrà negantes Principia, non est Disputandum.

‘I do confess I've lost my Wits,
‘Th' have put me into Convulsion Fits.
‘I must needs say, I've lost my labour,
‘When there's neither good, nor bad Behavour.
‘'Tis better to play upon Tabor and Drum,
‘To sing Ballads, or cry, Come Pudding, Come,
‘Tell a Tale of Robbin Hood or Tom Thumb.
‘My Satyr's skill and labour's lost,
‘There are no Vices to be crost.

‘This has made me Rhime so sadly,
‘This causes me to Versifie so madly,
‘I'de better sing, O brave Arthur of Bradly.
‘Any thing rather than be serious,
‘When Scepticks and Stoicks are so Imperious.
‘As to call all things in question,
‘Of any thing there can be no digestion.
‘Then I'le set me down, and take no pains,
‘And condemn all my idle Strains.
‘For at this rate, no body shall lose or get gains.

‘It seems my Wits do me beguile,
‘I have fought with the Air all this while.
‘I'le no more a hunting go,
‘There's nought to be took by Spear or Bow.

106

‘But must I my Witching Trade forgo?
‘You don't hear me yet say so.
‘I must have a bout with these All-Denyars,
‘By making them feel my Racks and Fires.

‘When these Rogues once have their due,
‘They may confess something to be true,
‘'Til then I bid 'um all Adieu.
‘I've been all this while at Fools Fare,
‘I have fought with Shadows, and beat the Air,
‘I'le take a Nap, after it, Boy, fetch me my Chair.

‘I must confess, in this wild Canto,
‘I have been too much upon the Ranto:
‘And have said more than I can stand to,
‘For lack of a good Warranto.
‘Yet good enough may be Womens Reasons,
‘'Gainst those that deny Felonies or Treasons,
‘So all things may be good in their Seasons.
‘But I no more of this Subject will sing,
‘I'le play upon a better string,
‘And sing to please Old Simon the King.