| Seven hundred elves from out the wood
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| Foul and grim they were
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| Down to the farmer’s house they went
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| His meat and drink to share
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| There was a farmer in the west and there he chose his ground
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| He thought to spend the winter there and brought his hawk and hound
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| He brought with him both hound and cock alone he begged to stay
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| And all the dear that roamed the wood had cause to rue the day
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| He felled the oak, he felled the birch, the beech nor poplar spared
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| And much was grieved the sullen elves at what the stranger dared
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| He hewed him baulks and he hewed him beams with eager toil and haste
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| Then up and spake the woodland elves: «Who's come our wood to waste?»
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| Up and spake the biggest elf and grimly rolled his eyes:
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| «We'll march upon the farmer’s house and hold on him assize
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| He’s knocking down both wood and bower, he shows us great distain
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| We’ll make him rue the day he was born and taste of shame and pain.»
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| All the elves from out the wood began to dance and spring
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| And marched towards the farmer’s house their lengthy tails to swing
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| The farmer from his window looked and quickly crossed his breast
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| «Oh woe is me,» the farmer cried, «The elves will be my guests.»
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| In every nook he made a cross and all about the room
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| And off flew many a frightened elf back to his forest gloom
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| Some flew to the east, some flew to the west, some flew to the north away
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| And some flew down the deep ravine and there forever stay |