There was an old woman
— Went blackberry picking
Along the hedges
— From Weep to Wicking.
Half a pottle —
— No more she had got,
When out steps a Fairy
— From her green grot;
And says, " Well, Jill,
— Would 'ee pick 'ee mo? "
And Jill, she curtseys,
— And looks just so.
" Be off, " says the Fairy,
— " As quick as you can,
Over the meadows
— To the little green lane,
That dips to the hayfields
— Of Farmer Grimes;
I've berried those hedges
— A score of times;
Bushel on bushel
— I'll promise 'ee, Jill,
This side of supper
— If 'ee pick with a will. "
She glints very bright,
— And speaks her fair;
Then lo, and behold!
— She had faded in air.

Be sure Old Goodie
— She trots betimes
Over the meadows
— To Farmer Grimes.
And never was queen
— With jewelry rich
As those same hedges
— From twig to ditch;
Like Dutchmen's coffers,
— Fruit, thorn, and flower —
They shone like William
— And Mary's Bower.
And be sure Old Goodie
— Went back to Weep,
So tired with her basket
— She scarce could creep.
When she comes in the dusk
— To her cottage door,
There's Towser wagging
— As never before,
To see his Missus
— So glad to be
Come from her fruit-picking
— Back to he.
As soon as next morning
— Dawn was grey,
The pot on the hob
— Was simmering away;
And all in a stew
— And a hugger-mugger
Towser and Jill
— A-boiling of sugar,
And dark clear fruit
— That from Faerie came,
For syrup and jelly
— And blackberry jam.

Twelve jolly gallipots
— Jill put by;
And one little teeny one,
— One inch high;
And that she's hidden
— A good thumb deep,
Half way over
— From Wicking to Weep.
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