The gamkeepers all tummled doon,
Their hair thrast off their hat,
They gaped an' grean'd an' roll'd aboot,
An' their hearts went pit-a-pat.
Thir feaces were white as onny clout,
An' they sed nivver a word,
They cudn't tell what the ghost was like,
Whether 'twas a beast or a bird.
They stay'd nea langer i' th' wood that neet,
Poor men were nivver dafter,