There’s ne’er an elf in aw the town,
That hardly weell can say his creed,
But he will swear a solemn oath,
Crack o’ wealth Ecky’s mear cau’d dead.
Lad, wilt thou for Hob Trumble run?
I ken he will come at my need;
That seun he may take off her skin,
For I mun leeve though she be dead.
Now straight he came with knife in hand,
He flead her fra the top to th’ tail,