Old Baubo rideth alone.

Chorus. Honour her to whom honour is due,

Old mother Baubo, honour to you!

An able sow, with old Baubo upon her,

Is worthy of glory, and worthy of honour!

The legion of witches is coming behind,

Darkening the night, and outspeeding the wind.

A Voice. Which way comest thou?

A Voice. Over Ilsenstein;

The owl was awake in the white moonshine;