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 They say that swarming wild bees seek
The hive at her command;
And fishes swim to take their food
From out her dainty hand.
Meek as she sits in meeting-time,
The godly minister
Notes well the spell that doth compel
The young men's eyes to her.
The mole upon her dimpled chin
Is Satan's seal and sign;
Her lips are red with evil bread
And stain of unblest wine.
For Tituba, my Indian, saith
At Quasycung she took
The Black Man's godless sacrament
And signed his dreadful book.
Last night my sore-afflicted child
Against the young witch cried.
To take her Marshal Herrick rides
Even now to Wenham side. “
The marshal in his saddle sat,
His daughter at his knee;
“I go to fetch that arrant witch,
Thy fair playmate,” quoth he.
“Her spectre walks the parsonage,
And haunts both hall and stair;
They know her by the great blue eyes
And floating gold of hair.”
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