Her ashes burn our eyes

Black lines on solemn faces

Concern'd we are by our necessary deed

Moved by the pathetic begging of the witch

So cruel our duty, yet so joyful in the lord!

For Alas! Ye poor sinners there's devils everywhere!

In shades they lurk and on meadows fair

They may obsess your neighbor, your friend, your lover

For the hearts of the weak are their favour'd lair

Devils everywhere!

In evil eyes they dwell and in women fair

As the devil is a spirit and a prince of the ayre

He appeares in many shapes by joyning thickened myst together

And the devil is cunning

By drawing out of teats

He doth really enter the body as reall corporeall substantiall creature and forceth that creature to his desired ends

Useth the organs of that body to speake withall

To make his compact up

With his hideous agents

The heretic, the heathen, the witch

His genital is sore and scaly

And his semen cold as ice

Maybe she was stirred by our painful interrogation

For god's compassion she yell'd

And Io! How mercyful we were!

The burning flames of the stake

May slacken her torture in hell

"There is no peace," says the Lord, "for the wicked."

We'll have no peace 'til they are all purged

"There is no peace," says my God, "to the wicked."

We'll have no peace 'til they all burn

The wicked are like the troubled sea

Whose waters cast up mire and dirt

We'll have no peace 'til our country is cleansed

"There is no rest," says the Lord, "for the wicked."

We will not rest 'til ye are all purged