But Weg knew what was what right well,
And one young witch there bore the bell.
One late enlisted in the rout
(At Woodstock known and thereabout)
At many a measure she had shot,
And many a plan had sent to pot;
Made many a plucky wight feel queer,
And shook e’en her own side with fear.
Her “cutty sark” of true-blue yarn,
Which, up to now, the witch had worn,