Classic Poem

At night when I be sitting in the corner of the house,
And oh! so close and quiet that I wouldn't scare a mouse.
With the wind above the chimney top and it's me can hear its song:
“Go to bed you sleepy head, you're staying up too long!”
Then Mawmy up and looks at me and says: “It's now to bed,
Or else 'twill be the Fellow with the Wee Red Head!”

Now, sure he's all for capers and up to any trick,
It's him to blow the rushlight out and wet the candle wick,
It's to a weasel he can turn, for he's the one for that,
Or maybe to a clocking hen and maybe to a cat—
And things that's worse than that he'll do if it's not me in bed—
I'm feeard of him, the Fellow with the Wee Red Head!

There's many a thing I'm not to do and that because I'm wee,
And if I'm up to any tricks he's got his eye on me—
It's him that lets the downdrops in and salts the stirabout
And him to shove the kitchen door and give you such a slout!
Some say the wind is doing it, but don't I know instead,
It always is the Fellow with the Wee Red Head!

There lives a man across the ditch, a scraggy man and thin,
But he's the one that has the fist to draw the money in—
His face that dry and head that bald. He's only skin and bone,
But that and all though poor he looks, he's money of his own—
Bags of it and crocks of it, but my! afore he's dead,
He'll lose it to the Fellow with the Wee Red Head.

I'm not a bit afeeard of him and it the light of day,
But that is not his time to come and carry boys away;
It's coming down the chimley brace when Maw puts out the light,
And round the house and round the house he's going all the night—
So now it's me upon my knees and pray and then to bed,
Or else 'twill be the Fellow with the Wee Red Head!