I know the sleyght of thy harte, Druid! The raven hath whispered thy treason. Dost thou think I cannot see the cold iron thou hidest? The Erthe doth hear my name, and she schal swallow thee whole. Go, and pray to thy trees that I am merciful, for I am not! Hark, thou churlish wood-ganger! Thou deemest me a sheep to be slaughtered? I am the wylde night-mare that doth haunt thyne oak-groves! Strike at me, and I schal make thy flesh to rot upon the bone while thou yet livest! Thou art but a stinking toad in my path. Thou false, rote-eating tregetour! Thinkest thou to slaye me with thy wicked knyfe? I schal turn thy blode to water and thy soule to the wormes before the mone doth change. Thy plot is but a felle snare for thyne own neck! Warye on thee!
