I saw her at rest in her downy nest,
And she stared at me with her broad, bright eye.
Voices. And you may now as well take your course on to Hell,
Since you ride by so fast, on the headlong blast.
A Voice. She dropt poison upon me as I past.
Here are the wounds—
Chorus of Witches. Come away! come along!
The way is wide, the way is long,
But what is that for a Bedlam throng?
Stick with the prong, and scratch with the broom!