of cloth, and weitts70 it in water; and we take a beetle71 and knokis the rage on a stone, and we say thryse ower:
‘“I knok this ragg wpon this stane, To raise the wind, in the Divellis name; It sall not lye,72 untill I please againe!”
‘[Whan] we wold lay the wind, we dry the ragg, and say [thryse ower]:
‘“We lay the wind in the Divellis name, [It sall not] ryse quhill we lyk to rease it again!”
‘And if the wind will not lye instantlie [after we say this] we call wpon owr Spirit, and say to him:
‘“Thieffe! Thieffe! conjure the wind, and caws it to [lye ...]”
‘We haw no power of rain, bot ve will rease the wind quhan ve pleas.—He maid us beliew [...] that ther wes no God besyd him.
‘As for Elf-arrow-heidis, the Diuell shapes them with his awin hand, and syne deliueris thame to Elf-boyes, who whyttis and dightis73 them with a sharp thing lyk a paking neidle; bot [quhan I was in Elfland?] I saw them whytting and dighting them. Quhan I wes in the Elfes howssis, they will haw werie ... them whytting and dighting: and the Diwell giwes them to ws, each of ws so many, quhen.... Thes that dightis thaim ar litle ones, holow, and boss baked!74 They speak gowstie75 lyk. Quhen the Divell giwes them to ws, he sayes:
‘“Shoot thes in my name,
And they sall not goe heall hame!”
‘And quhan we shoot these arrowes we say:
‘“I shoot yon man in the Divellis name, He sall not win heall hame! And this sal be alswa trw; Thair sall not be an bit of him on lieiw.”76
‘We haw no bow to shoot with, but spang77 them from the naillis of our thowmbes. Som tymes we will misse, bot if thay twitch78 be it beast, or man, or woman, it will kill, tho’ they haid an jack79 wpon them. Qwhen we goe in the shape of an haire, we say thryse owr:
‘“I sall goe intill ane haire,
With sorrow, and sych, and meikle caire;
And I sall goe in the Divellis nam, Ay whill I com hom [againe]!”
‘And instantlie we start in an hair, And when we wold be owt of that shape, we vill say:
‘“Haire [haire, God send the caire!]
I am in an hairis liknes just now,
But I sal be in a womanis liknes ewin [now]!”
‘When we vold goe in the liknes of an Cat, we say thryse ower:
‘“I sall go [intill ane catt,]
[With sorrow, and sych, and a blak] shot!
And I sall goe in the Divellis nam, Ay quhill I com hom again!”
‘And if ve [wold goe in ane Craw,80 then] we say thryse ower:
‘“I sall goe intill a craw,
With sorrow and sych, and a blak [thraw!
And I sall goe in the Divellis nam,] Ay quhill I com hom again!”
‘And quhen ve vold be owt of thes shapes, we say:
“Catt, catt, (or craw, craw,) [God] send the a blak shott! (or thraw)
I wes a catt (or craw) just now,
Bot I sal be [in a woman’s liknes evin now.]
Catt, catt, (or craw, craw,) God send the a blak shot! (or thraw).”
‘Giff we in the [shape of an catt, an craw, an] haire, or ony uther liknes, &c., go to any of our neighbouris howssis, being Witches, we will [say]:
“[I (or we) conjure] the Goe with ws (or me)!”
‘And presentlie they becom as we ar, either cats, hearis, crowes, &c., and goe [with ws whither we wold. Quhan] we wold ryd, we tak windlestrawes, or bean stakes,81 and put them betwixt owr foot, and say thryse:
‘“[Horse] and hattok, horse and goe,
Horse and pellatis, ho! ho!”
‘And immediatlie we flie away whair [evir we wold]; and least our husbandis sould miss vs owt of owr beddis, we put in a boosom,82 or a thrie [leggit stoole besyde thame] and say thryse ower:
“I lay down this boosom (or stooll) in the Devillis name Let it not steir ... [Quhill I] com again!”
‘And immediatlie it seimis a voman, besyd our husbandis.
‘Ve can not turn in the lik[nes of ...] Quhen my husband sold beeff, I used to put a swellowes feather in the hyd of the beast, and [say thryse]:
“[I] putt out this beeff in the Divellis nam, That meikle silver and good pryce com hame!”
‘I did ewin so [quhenevir I putt] furth either horse, noat,83 vebs,84 or any uther thing to be sold, and still put in this feather, and said the [samin wordis thryse] ower, to caws the comodities sell weill.
“Our Lord to hunting he [is gone]
... marble stone,
He sent vord to Saint Knitt....”
Quhan we vold heall ony sor or brokin limb, we say thryse ower
“He pat the blood to the blood, Till all up stood!
The lith to the lith, Till all look with;
Owr Ladie charmed her deirlie Sone, with hir tooth and her townge,
And her ten fingeris——
In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Halie Ghaist!”
‘And this we say thryse ower, straiking85 the sor, and it becomes heall.
