He took but little fettlin,
An' awa they went wi' right gud will
To gie the ghost a settlin.
Aye off they set wi' all thir might,
Nor stoppt at thin or thick,
The parson wi' his sark an' buke,
The clark wi' a thick stick.
At last by t' side o' th' bank they stoppt
Where Wharfe runs murmrin clear,
A beautiful river breet an' fine,