Witch Bottle

I stand by the fireside

Standing guard never by your side

They set me in mortared stone

Here to take the devil on

He won't knock upon your door

But down the chimney to the hearth

Inside me are many things

Your own clothes, bent metal pins

Bounded up with clods of earth

Your water too, all mix'd in

When he comes he'll think I'm you

And I'll trap him in my flue

No harm will come to you and yours

Cos I have him by the horns