On the stranger's face was a sly grimace, As he seized the sacks of grain; And, one by one, till left were none, He tossed them on the wain.
And slily he leered, as his hand up-reared A purse of costly mould, Where, bright and fresh, through a silver mesh, Shone forth the glistering gold.
The farmer held out his right hand stout, And drew it back with dread; For in fancy he heard each warning word The supping friar had said.
His eye was set on the silver net; His thoughts were in fearful strife; When, sudden as fate, the glittering bait Was snatched by his loving wife.
And, swift as thought, the stranger caught The farmer his waist around, And at once the twain and the loaded wain Sank through the rifted ground.
The gable-end wall of Manor Hall Fell in ruins on the place: That stone-heap old the tale has told To each succeeding race.
The wife gave a cry that rent the sky At her goodman's downward flight; But she held the purse fast, and a glance she cast To see that all was right.
'Twas the fiend's full pay for her goodman grey, And the gold was good and true; Which made her declare, that "his dealings were fair, To give the devil his due."
She wore the black pall for Farmer Wall, From her fond embraces riven: But she won the vows of a younger spouse With the gold which the fiend had given.
Now, farmers, beware what oaths you swear When you cannot sell your corn; Lest, to bid and buy, a stranger be nigh, With hidden tail and horn.