O, would that with last and shoe I had stay’d,
Without wild desires;
And, ah! no trust in Satan had laid,
That prince of liars!

Each Saturday night, when slept the rest,
Away I stroll’d
To the forest, so murky and drear, in quest
Of buried gold.

And then I beheld the hopping fire glow
The briar behind;
And down to the earth my wishing-rod low
Itself declin’d.

I dug then, and gripped the chest’s ring amain,
And held it stout;
But the copper deceitful burst in twain,
And the fiends laughed out.

Just, just as long was the treasure my own,
As I trembled with fright;
But soon as I held it secure, down, down
It sank from sight.

Ye devilish pack, what grin ye at?
I fell not your prey;
I’ll trust no more in old women’s chat,
And in cross-shaped way.

I go by my last and shoe to stay,
Without wild desires;
And ne’er more in Satan I trust will lay,
That prince of liars!