‘Where have you been so late? Did thou hear anything new?’
Then he said:
‘Thou are middling good to spin thyself, ven thie; but I’m thinking there’s one in that’s better than thee, for all. Never in all my born days did I see such spinning, a thread as fine as a cobweb, and hear such singing as there was going on in the Giant’s house to-night.’
‘What was he singing?’ says the wife. And he sang the song to her:
Snieu, queeyl, snieu; ’rane, queeyl, ’rane;
Dy chooilley clea er y thie, snieu er my skyn.
Lheeish yn ollan, lhiams y snaie,
S’beg fys t’ec yn ven litcheragh
Dy re Mollyndroat my ennym!
Well, well, the joy the woman took when she heard the song!