Tick-tack-too!'

Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks

This keen miser-fairy hath,

Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,

Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,

And where the cormorants build;

From times of old

Guarded by him;

[16]

Each of them fill'd

Full to the brim

With gold!

I caught him at work one day, myself,

In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,—

A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,

Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,

Silver buckles to his hose,

Leather apron—shoe in his lap—

'Rip-rap, tip-tap,

Tick-tack-too!

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