Hair from the skulls of dying strumpets shorn,
And felons' bones, from rifled gibbets torn,
Like those, which some old hag at midnight steals,
For witchcrafts, amulets, and charms, and spells,
Are passed for sacred to the cheapening rout,
And worn on fingers, breasts, and ears about.
This boasts a scrap of me, and that a bit
Of good St. George, St. Patrick, or St. Kit;
These locks St. Bridget's were, and those St. Clare's;
Some for St. Catharine's go, and some for her's
That wiped her Saviour's feet, washed with her tears.
Here you may see my wounded leg, and here
Those which to China bore the great Xavier.
Here may you the grand traitor's halter see,
Some call 't the arms of the society;
Here is his lantern too, but Faux's not,
That was embezzled by the Huguenot.
Here Garnet's straws, and Becket's bones and hair,
For murdering whom, some tails are said to wear,
As learnèd Capgrave does record their fate,
And faithful British histories relate.
Those are St. Lawrence' coals exposed to view,
Strangely preserved, and kept alive till now;
That's the famed Wildefortis' wondrous beard,
For which her maidenshame the tyrant spared;
Yon is the Baptist's coat, and one of 's heads,
The rest are shown in many a place besides;
And of his teeth as many sets there are,
As on their belts six operators wear.
Here blessed Mary's milk, not yet turned sour,
Renowned (like asses') for its healing power,
Ten Holland kine scarce in a year give more.
Here is her manteau, and a smock of hers,
Fellow to that, which once relieved Poictiers;[1]
Besides her husband's utensils of trade,
Wherewith some prove that images were made.
- ↑ The Maid of Orleans.
