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 Hand in hand we'll dance around,

For this place is fairy ground.

When mortals are at rest,

And snoring in their nest,

Unheard and unespied

Thro’ key holes we do glide;

Over tables, stools, and shelves,

We trip it with our fairy elves.

And if the house be foul,

With platter, dish or bowl,

Up stairs we nimbly creep,

And find the sluts asleep;

Then we pinch their arms and thighs.

None us hears and none us spies.

But if the house be swept,

And from uncleanness kept,

We praise the houshold maid,

And surely she is paid;

Every night before we go,

We drop a tester in her shoe.

Then over a mushroom’s head

Our table cloth we spread;

A grain of rye or wheat,

The diet that we eat;

Early drops of dew we drink

In corn cups fill’d to the brink.

The brains of nightingales,

With unctuous fat of snails,