Come, my little darling, and shut the oaken door,
This is the time when Pixie-folk are peeking on the moor;
They're very naughty Pixie-folk, and up to awful tricks,
So shut the door, my darling, for the clock is striking six.
They steal the milk from Cushy-cow, they suck the bantam's eggs,
They harry all the mother sheep, and run them off their legs;
They sip the cream from out the pans, and leave it thin and poor,
So 'ware the naughty Pixie-folk that peek upon the moor.
They sit upon the handle when Nanette is at the churn,
And, lo, when she has worked for hours the butter will not 'turn';
And once when she was in the field they came along to stare,
They pulled her apron-strings undone, and left her standing there.
They steal the new-born lambs, they do, and lure the foals away,
They play their tricks in mowing-fields, and trample new-mown hay;
They worry girls on market-day, as cheeky as can be,
And once they mixed a pound of rice in Aunt Eliza's tea.
And once there was a traveller upon the lonesome wild,
He left his horse because he heard the crying of a child;
He found he was mistaken, and then, alack-a-day,
He saw the Pixies on his horse a-galloping away.
And once there was a naughty girl who stole her mother's jam,
She said she didn't do it, and she blamed it on to Sam;
The Pixie-folk were passing, on their journey to the South,
They tied her hands behind her back and plastered up her mouth.
And once again a cruel boy was breaking up a nest,
He turned the baby robins out and wouldn't let them rest;
The Pixies came and chased him far, and left him in a bog,
They splashed the mud upon his face and wrapped him in a fog.
So when I come to think of it, the Pixies aren't all bad,
And if they punish naughty folk, why, then I'm very glad,
But I am still afraid of them and all their funny tricks,
So shut the door, my darling, for the clock is striking six.
Jerry
The True Story of a Little Boy who Ran Away