Herbal Redes
What can kill, can cure.
More in the garden grows
than the Witch knows.
Sell your coat, and buy betony.
No ear hath heard, no tongue can tell,
the virture of the pimpernel.
Treoil, vervain, St. John’s wort, dill,
hinder Witches of all their will.
Where rosemary grows,
the missus is master.
Faerie-folks,
are in old oaks.
Sow fennel,
sow sorrow.
Only the wicked grow parsley.
Plant your sage and rue together,
the sage will grow in any weather.
Snakes will not go
where geraniums grow.
Where the yarrow grows,
there is one who knows.
If ye would herbal magic make,
be sure the spell in rhyme be spake.
Woe to the lad
without a rowan tree god (amulet).
Rowan tree and red thread,
put the Witches to their speed.
Eat an apple going to bed,
make the doctor beg his bread.
The fair maid who, the first of May
goes to the fields at break of day,
and washes in dew from the hawthorn tree
will ever after handsome be.
Plant not a cypress vine,
unless it bring death to thine.
Beware the oak, it draws the stroke.
avoid the ash, it courts the flash.
Creep under the thorn,
it will save you from harm.
An apple a day
keeps the doctor away.
Flowers out of season,
sorrow without reason.
He would live for aye,
must eat sage in May.
One to rot, one to grow,
One for the pigeon and one for the crow.
St. John’s wort and cyclamen
in your bed-chamber keep,
from evil spells and witcheries,
to guard you in your sleep.
I borage
give courage.
No mistletoe,
no luck.
Be silent as the sacred oak!