I am a maid, Your Worships, please:
not wicked, me, I meant no harm.
I beg you now, upon my knees
to please desist, it hurts my arm.
You are strong men while I am weak.
Undo the rope and let me speak.
Last Friday night, I heard a cry:
it was my friend: her name you know.
She is the witch, not I, not I.
We went, by moonlight, to and fro.
She bade me cast aside my frock
to frolic on the Catioroc
and though we danced without our clothes,
I did not meet the Devil there.
From that bleak hill no fiend arose
to ravish me or kiss my hair.
Please, not the fire! Here are the names!
Sweet neighbours, do not fan those flames.
Edgar Allan Poet
