Poems (Southey)/Volume 2/The Witch
For works with similar titles, see Witch.
ECLOGUE V.
THE WITCH.
NATHANIEL.Father! here father! I have found a horse-shoe! Faith it was just in time, for t'other night I laid two straws across at Margery's door, And afterwards I fear'd that she might do me A mischief for't. There was the Miller's boy Who set his dog at that black cat of her's, I met him upon crutches, and he told me 'Twas all her evil eye. FATHER.'Tis rare good luck; I would have gladly given a crown for one If t'would have done as well. But where did'st find it? NATHANIEL.Down on the common; I was going a-field And neighbour Saunders pass'd me on his mare; He had hardly said "good day," before I saw The shoe drop off; 'twas just upon my tongue To call him back, it makes no difference, does it, Because I know whose 'twas? FATHER.Why no, it can't. The shoe's the same you know, and you did find it. NATHANIEL.That mare of his has got a plaguey road To travel, father, and if he should lame her, For she is but tender-footed,—FATHER.Aye, indeed—I should not like to see her limping back Poor beast! but charity begins at home, And Nat, there's our own horse in such a way This morning! NATHANIEL.Why he ha'nt been rid again!Last night I hung a pebble by the mangerWith a hole thro', and every body saysThat 'tis a special charm against the hags.FATHER.It could not be a proper natural hole then,Or 'twas not a right pebble,—for I found himSmoking with sweat, quaking in every limb,And panting so! God knows where he had beenWhen we were all asleep, thro' bush and brakeUp-hill and down-hill all alike, full stretchAt such a deadly rate!—NATHANIEL.By land and water,Over the sea perhaps!—I have heard tellThat 'tis some thousand miles, almost at the endOf the world, where witches go to meet the Devil.They used to ride on broomsticks, and to smearSome ointment over them and then away Out of the window! but 'tis worse than allTo worry the poor beasts so. Shame upon itThat in a Christian country they should letSuch creatures live!FATHER.And when there's such plain proof!I did but threaten her because she robb'dOur hedge, and the next night there came a windThat made me shake to hear it in my bed!How came it that that storm unroofed my barn,And only mine in the parish? look at herAnd that's enough; she has it in her face—A pair of large dead eyes, rank in her head,Just like a corpse, and purs'd with wrinkles round,A nose and chin that scarce leave room betweenFor her lean fingers to squeeze in the snuff,And when she speaks! I'd sooner hear a ravenCroak at my door! she sits there, nose and kneesSmoak-dried and shrivell'd over a starved fire,With that black cat beside her, whose great eyes Shine like old Beelzebub's, and to be sureIt must be one of his imps!--aye, nail it hard.NATHANIEL.I wish old Margery heard the hammer go!FATHER.Here's the Curate coming,He ought to rid the parish of such vermin;In the old times they used to hunt them outAnd hang them without mercy, but Lord bless us!The world is grown so wicked!CURATE.Good day Farmer!Nathaniel what art nailing to the threshold?NATHANIEL.A horse-shoe Sir, 'tis good to keep off witchcraft,And we're afraid of Margery.CURATE.Poor old woman!What can you fear from her? FATHER.What can we fear?Who lamed the Miller's boy? who rais'd the windThat blew my old barn's roof down? who d'ye thinkRides my poor horse a'nights? who mocks the hounds?But let me catch her at that trick again,And I've a silver bullet ready for her,One that shall lame her, double how she will.NATHANIEL.What makes her sit there moping by herself,With no soul near her but that great black cat?And do but look at her!CURATE.Poor wretch! half blindAnd crooked with her years, without a childOr friend in her old age, 'tis hard indeedTo have her very miseries made her crimes!I met her but last week in that hard frostThat made my young limbs ache, and when I ask'dWhat brought her out in the snow, the poor old woman Told me that she was forced to crawl abroadAnd pick the hedges, just to keep herselfFrom perishing with cold, because no neighbourHad pity on her age; and then she cried,And said the children pelted her with snow-balls,And wish'd that she were dead.FATHER.I wish she was!She has plagued the parish long enough!CURATE.Shame farmer!Is that the charity your bible teaches?FATHER.My bible does not teach me to love witches.I know what's charity; who pays his tithesAnd poor-rates readier?CURATE.Who can better do it?You've been a prudent and industrious man,And God has blest your labour. FATHER.Why, thank God Sir,I've had no reason to complain of fortune.CURATE.Complain! why you are wealthy. All the parishLook up to you.FATHER.Perhaps Sir, I could tellGuinea for guinea with the warmest of them.CURATE.You can afford a little to the poor,And then what's better still, you have the heartTo give from your abundance.FATHER.God forbidI should want charity!CURATE.Oh! 'tis a comfortTo think at last of riches well employ'd!I have been by a death-bed, and know the worth Of a good deed at that most awful hourWhen riches profit not.Farmer, I'm goingTo visit Margery. She is sick I hear—Old, poor, and sick! a miserable lot,And death will be a blessing. You might send herSome little matter, something comfortable,That she may go down easier to the graveAnd bless you when she dies.FATHER.What! is she going!Well God forgive her then! if she has dealtIn the black art. I'll tell my dame of it,And she shall send her something.CURATE.So I'll say;And take my thanks for her's.[goes]FATHER.That's a good manThat Curate, Nat, of ours, to go and visit The poor in sickness; but he don't believeIn witchcraft, and that is not like a christian.NATHANIEL.And so old Margery's dying!FATHER.But you knowShe may recover; so drive t'other nail in!