A 17th Century Curse

In the bottle rests my pee Collected under a darkling moon And pared down fingernails, overgrown Some bits of hair and rusty nails Brass tacks, and a leather pierced By a nail, which bent at odd angle Upside down in hidden grave, it lies So on the evil doer, it rebounds Until that she, herself, soon die * * * * * * * * * * * * * * For those afraid a witch may have cast a spell upon them. If all goes well, the trick will cast the spell back on the witch, perhaps killing her — or so goes a 17th century witchcraft belief.