And try to call her down this way,
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”
Tell her to leave her cockle-shells,
And all her little silver bells
That [blossom into melody],
And all her maids less fair than she.
She does not need these pretty things,
For everywhere she comes, she brings
“Witchery—witchery—witchery!”
[The woods are greening] overhead,