I’ll burn it ere the morn!”
The Baron fled to his Castle,
And guarded it so grim,
“The fiend take Belted Will,” he cried,
“’Tis word and blow wi’ him.”
But scarcely had the midnight fell,
When spite o’ a’ his care,
Belted Will his Castle stormed,
For a’ he fought so fair.
A tar barrel and reeking peat,