Wise & Subtle Art of Reading Cards The Wytch of Middling Memory The Wytch of Exceptional Memory Combinations
Hie to Carterhaugh: Ballads Green Grow the Rushes: Songs & Chants
Wortcunning: Seeds and Weeds Blackthorn and Hawthorn: To Harm or Heal
T'ween Dusted Pages of Auld: Suggested Books A Proverbial Wytch: Proverbs, Maxims and Wise Words Old Craft Glossary
Tom Tit Tot: Faery Lore The Fabled Hare Artful Avians: Bird Lore Standing Stone and Elder Tree Labyrinths and Mazes Beneath the Mask: Guising Midsummer Lore Merry Misrule Kilkenny's Wytch: Dame Alice
Which Witch is Wytch? Walking The Crooked Path Fetch Light Atop the Hedgerow The Old Straight Track: Ley Lines Oot and Aboot: Crossing the Hedge By Horse and Hattock Skry Stone, Shew Stone: Divination Signs and Symbols To 'Prentis Seekers
Diana and Her Darling Crew: Links About the HedgeWytch Credits and Kudos

Credits & Kudos

Be 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.

Some written material has been excerpted from a variety of sources and authors. 

I 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. 

Robert Cochrane

Joseph Wilson

Nigel Jackson

Nigel Pennick

Evan John Jones

Doreen Valiente

Margaret Murray

Robert Graves


George Ewart Evans

Katharine Briggs

Venetia Newall

Owen Davies

Thomas Keightly

Lewis Spence

William Butler Yeats

W. Y. Evans Wentz

AE (George) Russell

Ronald Hutton

Mircea Eliade

Erica Jong

T.C. Lethbridge

An Arteful Anonymous Wytch

Excerpts from The Masque of Queenes -- Ben Jonson

(taken from Pale Hecate's Team - © K.M. Briggs)

1. Charme
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.

2. Charme
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.

3. Charme
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...

Home ] Wise & Subtle Arts of Cartomancy ] The Wytch of Middling Memory ] Wytch of Exceptional Memory ] Which Wytch is Witch? ] Hie to Carterhaugh ] Green Grow the Rushes ] Loneliness and the Crooked Path ] Fetch Light Atop the Hedgerow ] T'ween Dusted Pages of Auld ] A Proverbial Wytch ] The Old Straight Track ] Oot and Aboot ] Hupp Horse and Handocks ] Skry Stone, Shew Stone, Tell me True ] Reeding, Riting and Rithmatic ] Hertha's Seed and Ragged Weed ] Wytch Words - Old Craft Glossary ] Signs and Symbols ] Tom Tit Tot Named ] Hawthorn to Heal & Blackthorn to Harm ] Wytch of Kilkenny - Dame Alice Kyteler ] The Fabled Hare ] Arteful Avian Adventures ] By Standing Stone & Elder Tree ] Labyrinths & Mazes ] Guising - Behind the Mask ] Midsummer Lore ] Merry Misrule ] Diana and Her Darling Crew ] About the Cottage of the Hedgewytch ] Credits and Kudos ]

© An Arteful Anonymous Witch