To the woods, to the woods is the wizard gone; In his grotto the maiden sits alone. She gazes up with a weary smile At the rafter-hanging crocodile, The slowly swinging crocodile. Scorn has she of her masterâ€™s gear, Cauldron, alembic, crystal sphere, Phial, philtreâ€”â€œFiddlededee For all such trumpery trash!â€ quoâ€™ she. â€œA soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad!
â€œOh, here have I ever lain forlorn: My father died ere I was born, Mother was by a wizard wed, And oft I wish I had died insteadâ€” Often I wish I were long time dead. But, delving deep in my masterâ€™s lore, I have won of magic power such store I can turn a skullâ€”oh, fiddlededee For all this curious craft!â€ quoâ€™ she. â€œA soldier is the lad for me; Hey and hither, my lad!
â€œTo bring my brave boy unto my arms, What need have I of magic charmsâ€” â€˜Abracadabra!â€™ and â€˜Prestopuffâ€™? I have but to wish, and that is enough. The charms are vain, one wish is enough. My master pledged my hand to a wizard; Transformed would I be to toad or lizard If eâ€™er he guessedâ€”but fiddlededee For a black-browed sorcerer, now,â€ quoâ€™ she. â€œLet Cupid smile and the fiend must flee; Hey and hither, my lad.â€