By your direction,
An' 'nighted travelers are allur'd
To their destruction.
An' aft your moss-traversing spunkies bog-, goblins
Decoy the wight that late an' drunk is:
The bleezin, curst, mischievous monkies
Delude his eyes,
Till in some miry slough he sunk is,
Ne'er mair to rise.
When masons' mystic word an' grip