But when the ice our streams did fetter, Oh then how her old bones would shake; You would have said, if you had met her, 'Twas a hard time for Goody Blake. Her evenings then were dull and dead: 45 Sad case it was, as you may think, For very cold to go to bed; And then for cold not sleep a wink. O joy for her! whene'er in winter The winds at night had made a rout; 50 And scattered many a lusty splinter And many a rotten bough about. Yet never had she, well or sick, As every man who knew her says, A pile beforehand, turf [4] or stick, 55 Enough to warm her for three days. Now, when the frost was past enduring, And made her poor old bones to ache, Could anything be more alluring Than an old hedge to Goody Blake? 60 And, now and then, it must be said, When her old bones were cold and chill, She left her fire, or left her bed, To seek the hedge of Harry Gill. Now Harry he had long suspected 65 This trespass of old Goody Blake; And vowed that she should be detected-- That [5] he on her would vengeance take. And oft from his warm fire he'd go, And to the fields his road would take; 70 And there, at night, in frost and snow, He watched to seize old Goody Blake. And once, behind a rick of barley, Thus looking out did Harry stand: The moon was full and shining clearly, 75 And crisp with frost the stubble land. --He hears a noise--he's all awake-- Again?--on tip-toe down the hill He softly creeps--'tis Goody Blake; She's at the hedge of Harry Gill! 80 Right glad was he when he beheld her: Stick after stick did Goody pull: He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron full. When with her load she turned about, 85 The by-way [6] back again to take; He started forward, with a shout, And sprang upon poor Goody Blake. And fiercely by the arm he took her, And by the arm he held her fast, 90 And fiercely by the arm he shook her, And cried, "I've caught you then at last!" Then Goody, who had nothing said, Her bundle from her lap let fall; And, kneeling on the sticks, she prayed 95 To God that is the judge of all. She prayed, her withered hand uprearing, While Harry held her by the arm-- "God! who art never out of hearing, O may he never more be warm!" 100 The cold, cold moon above her head, Thus on her knees did Goody pray; Young Harry heard what she had said: And icy cold he turned away.