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 vitue 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.
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-chambers 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 !~
this collection of texts was derived from
Scott Cunningham's 'Magical Herbalism'