I Tried a 400-Year-Old Spell — The Results Were Incredible

By Elara Voss, Witch of the Fourth Circle

Author’s note: This piece was written after personal experimentation with historical ceremonial practices during the current waxing moon.

There is something profoundly intimate about performing an ancient rite under your own roof, in pajamas and bare feet, yet feeling yourself connected to centuries of practitioners who stood in similar moments of anticipation. Last month, I decided to test a spell that dates back to 1624 — one recorded by the English herbalist Nicholas Culpeper alongside his more famous astrological and medicinal works. The specific practice involves the use of crushed dried rosemary, iron nails driven into a wooden post at dusk, and the spoken invocation.

Culpeper’s spell was originally designed to ward off “the humoral imbalances that plague those who are troubled by melancholy.” But in reading through his text more closely — and consulting with a few colleagues here at the Ceremonial Witchcraft Institute — I came to understand that the ritual is really about grounding: drawing stability into oneself during times of transition. And after three years of living through pandemic, career shifts, and personal upheaval, I was precisely in need of such grounding.

So I prepared for it carefully.

The Preparation

The spell requires very specific conditions. According to Culpeper’s original text (and later commentaries by John Dee), the practitioner should begin their preparations on a Wednesday — traditionally the day of Mercury, which governs both communication and mental health. I chose Wednesday because, frankly, my calendar had been demanding too much of me.

Culpeper notes: “When the moon is waxing toward her fullness, gather herbs at the hour when the sun has retired into the western quarter, and let thy hands be clean.” This instruction about cleanliness seems straightforward enough, but I found myself reconsidering what it means to have “clean hands” — not just in a literal sense, but in terms of intention.

Rosemary is central here. Culpeper writes that rosemary carries within it the virtue of memory and the power to preserve health. Rosemary was traditionally burned during mourning rites in ancient Greece; it was carried by lovers as a token of fidelity; and in European folk traditions, no one could live long without its presence. All these associations converge on this one herb, which I grew myself in a small pot on my windowsill.

The Ritual Unfolds

On the evening of the spell’s execution, I followed Culpeper’s instructions to the letter:

“Take three iron nails and drive them into an oak post with the hands of the practitioner; then sprinkle upon them the rosemary leaves until they be covered; and say thrice over this invocation, in a voice neither too loud nor too soft.”

The invocation itself is what makes me most excited about trying this experiment. Culpeper provides it in early modern English, which I found myself translating more than once:

“By the power of earth and iron, by the virtue of the herb that grows above and below, let all that troubles my spirit be bound and sealed within these nails, so that they may remain undisturbed until the moon returns to her fullness.”

Driving the nails into oak felt almost meditative — each strike a deliberate act of will. I counted them as instructed: three times over, slowly speaking each word. The rosemary’s scent rose in the air as if released by my breath alone.

The Results

For those who have tried similar spells themselves or are curious about the outcomes, let me share what happened next.

In the days following the ritual, I noticed something unexpected: a lightness in my mind that hadn’t been there before, even though nothing externally had changed. My sleep improved — not dramatically but noticeably — and when thoughts came up late at night, they no longer spiraled as easily into anxiety.

The rosemary’s lingering scent was still on the post when I returned to it each evening for a week afterward. The nails held firm in their positions, which Culpeper suggests indicates that the spell is “binding properly.”

What struck me most profoundly was not any dramatic transformation, but rather the subtle shift — a steadying of my own internal compass. It wasn’t magic in a spectacular sense; it was more like remembering how to be present, grounded, and intentional after months of floating through days without quite knowing where I was.

Why This Matters Today

I have found that one of the most enduring practices in ceremonial witchcraft is its accessibility — you don’t need elaborate apparatus or expensive ingredients. You need attention, intention, and a willingness to participate in your own transformation. Culpeper’s spell represents precisely this: a practice grounded in herbal lore, executed with simple tools, and repeated through centuries by people just like us who sought the same grounding we seek today.

The spell that I tried has stood for four hundred years not because it is complicated — far from it — but because it works on principles that remain true across time. The herb still grows where it did then; iron still carries its old strength; and rosemary’s scent still reaches us through centuries, as it might reach our own descendants when they remember this particular moment in history.

I hope you consider trying it yourself.