Credits & Kudos
thankful if life is a little harder than you like. A razor can't be
sharpened on a piece of velvet.
Many of the decorative
illustrations found here at the Cottage are Woodcuts associated with Witchcraft
from the 15th
Century and Upwards. Many of the images were found at an exhibit
entitled Damned Art. The Font used for the Page Banners is Beowulf.
written material has been excerpted from a variety
of sources and authors.
owe an immeasurable debt of gratitude to those persons listed below for
their personal inspiration and for the creativity and wisdom they have shared
in their many written works - both published and non, as well as for the
many letters and items of personal
correspondence that I have had the pleasure to read and respond to.
W. Y. Evans Wentz
Arteful Anonymous Wytch
Excerpts from The Masque of Queenes -- Ben Jonson
(taken from Pale Hecate's
Team - © K.M. Briggs)
Dame, Dame, the watch is set:
Quickly come, we all are met.
From the lakes, and from the fennes,
From the rockes, and from the dennes,
From the woods, and from the caues,
From the church-yards, from the graues,
From the dungeon, from the tree,
That they die on, here are wee.
Comes she not yet?
Strike another heate.
The weather is fayre, the wind is good,
Vp, Dame, o'yor Horse of wood:
Or else, tuck vp yor gray frock,
And sadle yor Goate, or yor greene Cock,
And make his bridle a bottome of thrid,
To roule vp how many miles you have rid.
Quickly come away;
For we, all stay.
Nor yet? Nay, then.
Wee'll try her again.
The owle is abroad, the Bat, and the Toade,
And so is the Cat-a-Mountaine;
The Ant, and so the Mole sit both in a hole,
And Frog peepes out o' the fountayne;
The Dogges they do bay, and the Timbrells play,
The Spindle is now a-turning;
The Moone it is red, and the starres are fled,
But all the sky is a burning:
The Ditch is made, and or nayles the spade,
With pictures full, of waxe, and of wooll:
Theyr livers I stick, with needles quick
There lacks but the blood, to make vp the flood.
Quickly Dame then, bring yor part in,
Spur, spur, upon little Martin,
Merely, merely, make him sayle,
A worme in his mouth and a thorne in's tayle,
Fire above, and fire below,
With a Whip i' your hand, to make him goe,
O, now, shee's come!
Let all be dumbe.
I haue bene, all day, looking after
A Rauen, feeding upon a Quarter;
And, soone as she'd turn'd her beake to ye South,
I snatch'd this morsel out of her Mouth.
I haue been gathering Wolues hayres,
The mad Doggs foame, and the Adders eares;
The spurging of a dead mans eyes,
And all, since the Euening Starre did rise.
I, lay last night, all alone,
O' the ground, to heare the Mandrake grone;
And pluck'd him vp, though he grew full low,
And as I had done, the Cock did crow.
And I ha' bene choosing out this scull,
From Charnell-houses, that were full;
From private grotts; and publique pitts;
And frighted a Sexten our of his witts.
Vnder a cradle I did creepe,
By day; and when the Child was a-sleepe,
At night, I suck'd the breath and rose,
And pluck'd the nodding nurse, by the nose.
6.I had a dagger, what did I with that?
Kill'd an infant, to have his fat.
A Piper it got, at a Church-ale,
I bad him, agayne blow wind i' the tayle.
A Murd'rer, yonder, was hung in Chaines,
The Sunne, and the Wind had shrunke his vaynes.
I bit if a sinew, I clip'd his hayre,
I brought of his ragges, yt daunc'd i' the ayre.
The Scritch-owles egges, and the fethers black,
The blood of the Frog, and the bone in his back,
I have been getting, and made of his skin
A purset, to keepe Sir Cranion in.
And I ha' bene plucking, plants among,
Hemlock, Henbane, Adders-tongue,
Night-shade, Moone wort, Libbards-bane;
And, twise, by the Doggs was like to be tane.
I from the iawes of a Gard'ners Bitch
Did snatch these bones & then lep'd ye ditch;
Yet, went I back to the house agayne;
Kill'd the black Cat; and here's ye brayne.
I went to the Toade breedes vnder the wal,
I charm'd him out, & he came at my call;
I scratch'd out ye eyes o' the Owle before;
I tore the Batts wings: What would you haue more?
The sticks are a crosse, there can be no losse;
The Sage is rotten, the Sulphur is gotten
Vp to the skye, that was i' the ground.
Follow it, then, wth or rattles, round;
Vnder the bramble, ouer the brier,
A little more heate will set it on fire;
Put it in mind, to doe it kind,
Flow water and blow wind.
Rouncy is ouer, Robble is vnder.
A flash of light, and a clap of thunder,
A storme of rayne, another of hayle,
We all must come home i' the egg-shell sayle;
The Mast of made of a great pin,
The tackle of Cobweb, the Sayle as thin,
And if we go through, and not fall in---
Stay; All our Charmes do nothing win.
The Dame's Child
Clouds rode high and the winds were wild
My blood sang loud, I was the Lady's child
'Neath argent moon, in compass round
The gale's hoary whine the only sound
Cunning flames from sparks were born
As smoke and mist took shape and form
Across the field the only knell
Came from the sound of one lone bell
Below the cloak of stars I stood.
Within the Lady's Sacred Wood
And in the silence of the Night
Blessed was I with Faery Sight
My eyes were closed yet I could see
All round in crystal clarity
I saw the smoke curl round the chair
As if the Dame, if She sat there
I knew then that she dwelt everywhere
And in myself, I found Her there...
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