Head-keeper Pike was made away.

He walks, head-keeper Pike, for harm,

He taps the windows of the farm;

The blood drips from his broken chin,

He taps and begs to be let in.

On Wood Top, nights, I've shaked to hark

The peewits wambling in the dark

Lest in the dark the old man might

Creep up to me to beg a light.

But Wood Top grass is short and sweet