Tixall Poetry/The Witches Song

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XXIX.

The Witches Song.

Lets have a dance upon this heath,We gaine more life by Duncans death.Sometimes like brinded cats we shew,Having no musicke but our mew;While we dance in some old mill,About the hopper stone, or wheele,To some old saier bardy shrine,Whilst the mill clacke it doth keepe time.
Sometimes about a hollow tree,Around, around, around dance we; ​Wher the chirping crickets come,And beetles sing with drousie hum.Then dance we over feme and furs,To houles of wolves, and barks of curs:And when with none of these we meet,We dance to the ecchos of our feet.
At the night-ravens screeching voice,When others tremble, we reioice;And nimbly, nimbly, trip we still,To the echo of a hollow hill.

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