An' whin he came in sight
O' his great din o' rocks,
Jist watchin' for him at the door
He shpied ould mither Fox.

"Have ye the pot a-bilin'?"
Says he to ould Fox thin;
"Shure an' it is, me child," says she;
"Have ye the small Rid Hin?"

"Yes, jist here in me bag,
As shure as I shtand here;
Open the lid till I pit her in:
Open it--nivir fear."

So the rashkill cut the shtring,
An' hild the big bag over;
"Now when I shake it in," says he,
"Do ye pit on the cover."

"Yis, that I will"; an' thin
The shtone wint in wid a dash,
An' the pot o' bilin' wather
Came over them ker-splash.

An' schalted 'em both to death,
So they couldn't brathe no more;
An' the little small Rid Hin lived safe,
Jist where she lived before.