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| SOE, Mistress Anne, faire neighbour myne, | |
| How rides a witche when nighte-winds blowe? | |
| Folk saye that you are none too goode | |
| To joyne the crewe in Salem woode, | |
| When one you wot in gives the signe: | 5 |
| Righte well, methinks, the pathe you knowe. | |
| |
| In Meetinge-time I watched you well, | |
| While godly Master Parris prayed: | |
| Your folded hands laye on your brooke; | |
| But Richard answered to a looke | 10 |
| That fain would tempt him unto hell, | |
| Where, Mistress Anne, your place is made. | |
| |
| You looke into my Richard’s eyes | |
| With evill glances shameless growne; | |
| I found about his wriste a hair, | 15 |
| And guesse what fingers tyed it there: | |
| He shall not lightly be your prize— | |
| Your Master firste shall take his owne. | |
| |
| ’T is not in nature he should be | |
| (Who loved me soe when Springe was greene) | 20 |
| A childe, to hange upon your growne! | |
| He loved me well in Salem Towne | |
| Until this wanton witcherie | |
| His hearte and myne crept dark betweene. | |
| |
| Last Sabbath nighte, the gossips saye, | 25 |
| Your goodman missed you from his side. | |
| He had no strength to move, untill | |
| Agen, as if in slumber still, | |
| Beside him at the dawne you laye. | |
| Tell, nowe, what meanwhile did betide. | 30 |
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| Dame Anne, mye hate goe with you fleete | |
| As driftes the Bay fogg overhead— | |
| Or over yonder hill-topp, where | |
| There is a tree ripe fruite shall bear | |
| When, neighbour myne, your wicked feet | 35 |
| The stones of Gallowes Hill shall tread. | |
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