Master of words,
yet subject to them.
Oath-keeper, Milord-
Titles but no name.

Curse you and your kin
with your silver tongues.
May the plague blacken
your lecherous lungs.

Fair folk, be gone fast.
Take with you your lies-
May they be your last-
My wretched avarice.

Keep your changeling child,
misbegot he be.
Raise him like you- wild.
Spoil my sweet baby.

I’ll not touch the gold,
‘Tis fool’s gold only.
And I’ve been too bold,
too fool once already.

You’ve taken it all-
my heart, my honour,
Further, I can’t fall.
To give there’s no more.

So leave fiend, at once
with your plundered loot.
Clever, wicked puns,
half-lie and half-truth.

Take your scruples few
and your cunning spells.
Good riddance to you.
Next we’ll meet in hell.