| HERBAL REDE'S
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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 virtue 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 grow's, there is one who know's. If ye would herbal magick make, be sure the spell in rhyme be spake. Woe to the lad without a Rowen-Tree God. Rowen 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 field's 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. Beware the Ash it courts the flash. Creep under the thorn, it saves you from harm. An Apple a day, keeps the doctor away. Flower's 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. Borage, gives courage. No Mistletoe, no luck. Be silent as the sacred Oak! SOURCE(S) The Herbal Rede's were taken from Scott Cunningham's, "Magickal Herbalism" 01212002 |
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"What a long, strange trip it's been..."
Jerry Garcia {1942-95}
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