And mortals call me Shot-for-Shot.
Ho, ho!
Will.So, so! Let’s join the dance.
The Dance of the Fen-Fires
Round about and in and out
The rushes dark and damp—O!
We dwindle and bloat; on mischief we gloat;
We frisk and frolic and flicker and float,
With our shimmering, glimmering lamp—O!
Ho, ho!