The Ears or Tail is burn'd, the Churn is burn'd;
And this to hurt the Witch, when all the while
They're likest Witches that believe such Cures;
Could I do all that People think I can,
I'de ne're take pains to find out stolen Goods,
Or hold intelligence with Thieves to bring e'm,
Meerly to get my Bread; no, I would make
The Universe pay Tribute to my power,
And all the Bug-bear Lords Inquisitors
More tremble at my Name then I do now
At theirs: Ah, _Jasper_, would I raise
Storms when I would, blast Corn, turn Rivers backward
Change shapes, mov'd where I pleas'd i'th' Air,
And that so fast, as thought it self would
Hardly overtake me:
What is't I could not do? if all were true
The Foolish People think, the Pope himself would
Quickly lose Respect,
And none be thought infallible but I.

_Jasp._ I'm sure I tremble for your want of power,
More then I should to see Hells dreadfull'st shape,
For I must flye the Town.

_Witch._ _Jasper_, not so; though I can raise no Devils,
Yet I Confederate with Rogues and Juglers,
Things that can shape themselves like Elves,
And Goblins--
And often do like Spirits haunt great Houses,
Most times to steal, but many times for mirth;