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 “Son Andrew, for the love of God
And of thy mother, stay!”
She clasped her hands, she wept aloud,
But Andrew rode away.
“O reverend sir, my Andrew's soul
The Wenham witch has caught;
She holds him with the curled gold
Whereof her snare is wrought.
She charms him with her great blue eyes,
She binds him with her hair;
Oh, break the spell with holy words,
Unbind him with a prayer! “
‘Take heart,’ the painful preacher said,
“This mischief shall not be;
The witch shall perish in her sins
And Andrew shall go free.
Our poor Ann Putnam testifies
She saw her weave a spell,
Bare-armed, loose-haired, at full of moon,
Around a dried — up well.
“Spring up, O well! ” she softly sang
The Hebrew's old refrain
(For Satan uses Bible words),
Till water flowed amain.
And many a goodwife heard her speak
By Wenham water words
That made the buttercups take wings
And turn to yellow birds.
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