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'From head to foot in every part
'he had not one free place.
'Where haft thou been the woman cry'd,
'thou art in inch a trim?
'With Jack the devil, he reply'd,
'but none can conquer him.
'She at her husband then did scold,
'and cry'd, your cursed son
'Deals with the devil, for behold
'what the young elf has done.
'The 'Squire cry'd, what has he done,
'speak now before I go;
'Can I believe that Jack my son,
'could flea the fryar so.
'The fryar cry'd, he did by chance,
'a cunning plot contrive;
'Amongst the thorns he made me dance,
'till I was flean alive
'A pipe he has that sounds so sweet,
'that when the same he blew,
'I could not stand still on my feet,
'but caper'd through and through.
'The 'Squire cry'd, if thou had'st died,
'in such a dancing mood,
'Then had it been a cruel sin,
'the boy was something rude.
'Jack bringing home the cows at night,
'his father straight did call,
'for him to go with all his might,
'before him in the hall.
'What is the cause of this complaint?
'tell me and do not lie;
'Here you have almost kill'd a saint;
'Jack made him this reply.'
A fit of mirth I play'd indeed,
and he was pleas'd to dance;
He might have taken better heed,
and not in briars prance.
