Dismissal

Where do you come from, vacant-eyed hag, and where do you go from here? Witching your way from border to bay, who will your mumbling hear? The babe in the bower is safe for an hour while you intone your hideous cries; the man in the wood not even you could harm with your malevolent eyes. Scat! with the brat who accompanies that noise which you wail with spoon on pail. Sail 'cross the sky on your broom or fly down the chimney of some dungeon dimly lit by the flare of gaseous air. We'll not heed your pitiful creed nor miss your darkening frown. Go, Despair! Get out of town!