Caliban, when venting his rage on Prospero and Miranda, can find no stronger curse than the following:—
As wicked dew as e'er my mother brush'd
With raven's feather from unwholesome fen,
Drop on you both!
May not this dew superstition have relationship, in some of its phases, to the classic myth of Kephalos (the head of the sun), Procris (the dew), and Eôs (the east or morning)? Mr. Cox says "it sprung from three simple phrases, one of which said, 'The sun loves the dew;' while the second said that 'the morning loves the sun;' and the third added that 'the sun killed the dew.'" Hence both the good and evil influences attendant thereon.
FOOTNOTES:
[22] Mr. Warburton is the author of several capital hunting and other songs, in the dialect of North Cheshire.
CHAPTER VI.
WITCHCRAFT.
What are these,
So wither'd and so wild in their attire;
That look not like the inhabitants o' the earth,
And yet are on't? Live you? or are you aught
That man may question?