Page:Witch Stories.pdf/38
a black toad, and hanging him up by his heels, collecting all his venom in an oyster shell for three days, and she told the king that it was then she wanted his fouled linen, when she would have enchanted him to death—but she never got it. She had two Pater Nosters, the white and the black. The white ran thus:—
“White Pater Noster,
God was my Foster,
He fostered me,
Under the Book of Palm Tree,
Saint Michael was my Dame,
He was born at Bethlehem,
He was made of flesh and blood,
God send me my right food :
My right food and dyne two
That I may to yon kirk po,
To read upon you sweet book,
Which the mighty God of Heaver shoop.
GOpén, open, Heaven's yaita,
Stick, stick, Hell’s yaita.
All Saints be the better,
That hear the white prayer Pater Noster.”
There was no harm in this doggerel, nor yet much good; little of blessing, if less of banning; nor was the Black more definite. It was shorter, which ought to have ranked as a merit:—
Black Pater Noster,
“Your newks in this house, for holy angels,
A post in the midst, that’s Christ Jesus,
Lucas, Marcus, Matthew, Joannes,
God be into this house and all that belongs us.”
To “sain” or charm her bed she used to say,—
“Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John
The bed be blest thet I ly on.”
And when the butter was slow in coming, it was enough if she chanted slowly—