Over the butter-kits, all through the dairy:
Over cheese, over butter, and milk-pails, he swore
“’Tis the work, I’ll be bound, of some foul witch or fairy.
How can I ever be happy or rich,
If robbed and tormented by fairy and witch,”
Quoth he; and lo, with a sudden turn
He stumbled and spilt the cream-full churn!
He went to his mother (she dwelt in the cot
Amid the hazels down by the linn: