“Head of monkey, brain of cat,
Eye of weasel, tail of rat,
Juice of mugwort, mastic, myrrh—­
All within the pot I stir.”

“Well sung, Mother Mould-heels,” cried a little old man, whose doublet and hose were of rusty black, with a short cloak, of the same hue, over his shoulders.  “Well sung, Mother Mould-heels,” he cried, advancing as the old witch retired, amidst a roar of laughter from the others, and chanting as he filled the caldron: 

“Here is foam from a mad dog’s lips,
Gather’d beneath the moon’s eclipse,
Ashes of a shroud consumed,
And with deadly vapour fumed. 
These within the mess I cast—­
Stir the caldron—­stir it fast!”

A red-haired witch then took his place, singing,

“Here are snakes from out the river,
Bones of toad and sea-calf’s liver;
Swine’s flesh fatten’d on her brood,
Wolf’s tooth, hare’s foot, weasel’s blood. 
Skull of ape and fierce baboon,
And panther spotted like the moon;
Feathers of the horned owl,
Daw, pie, and other fatal fowl. 
Fruit from fig-tree never sown,
Seed from cypress never grown. 
All within the mess I cast,
Stir the caldron—­stir it fast!”

Nance Redferne then advanced, and, taking from her wallet a small clay image, tricked out in attire intended to resemble that of James Device, plunged several pins deeply into its breast, singing as she did so, thus,—­

“In his likeness it is moulded,
In his vestments ’tis enfolded. 
Ye may know it, as I show it! 
In its breast sharp pins I stick,
And I drive them to the quick. 
They are in—­they are in—­
And the wretch’s pangs begin. 
Now his heart,
Feels the smart;
Through his marrow,
Sharp as arrow,
Torments quiver
He shall shiver,
He shall burn,
He shall toss, and he shall turn. 
Unavailingly. 
Aches shall rack him,
Cramps attack him,
He shall wail,
Strength shall fail,
Till he die
Miserably!”

As Nance retired, another witch advanced, and sung thus: 

“Over mountain, over valley, over woodland, over waste,
On our gallant broomsticks riding we have come with
frantic haste,
And the reason of our coming, as ye wot well, is to see
Who this night, as new-made witch, to our ranks shall
added be.”

A wild burst of laughter followed this address, and another wizard succeeded, chanting thus: 

“Beat the water, Demdike’s daughter! 
Till the tempest gather o’er us;
Till the thunder strike with wonder
And the lightnings flash before us! 
Beat the water, Demdike’s daughter! 
Ruin seize our foes and slaughter!”

As the words were uttered, a woman stepped from out the circle, and throwing back the grey-hooded cloak in which she was enveloped, disclosed the features of Elizabeth Device.  Her presence in that fearful assemblage occasioned no surprise to Alizon, though it increased her horror.  A pail of water was next set before the witch, and a broom being placed in her hand, she struck the lymph with it, sprinkling it aloft, and uttering this spell: