“Go not, I pray thee, to the dance, Hritz!

For there await thee daughters of the witch.

“They burn the straw beneath the bubbling roots—

They’ll take your life just when their wish it suits.

“That one with black, black eyes—most potent witch is she;

She knows all roots that grow by river or by tree.

“She knows what each distils—and she loves you!

With envious love she watches what you do.”

Sunday morn she dug the roots;

Monday, cleaned them; Tuesday, brewed;