Page:Poems, now first collected, Stedman, 1897.djvu/97

 WITCHCRAFT

, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne,

How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe?

Folk saye that you are none too goode

To joyne the crewe in Salem woode,

When one you wot of gives the signe:

Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe.

In Meetinge-time I watched you well,

Whiles godly Master Parris prayed:

Your folded hands laye on your booke;

But Richard answered to a looke

That fain would tempt him unto hell,

Where, Mistress Anne, your place is made.

You looke into my Richard's eyes

With evill glances shamelesse growne;

I found about his wriste a hair,

And guesse what fingers tyed it there: 77