Old Mad Ubb

Transcribed from:   Copy of Lost Lore: Old Mad Ubb

Old Mad Ubb

Now hear the lay of Old Mad Ubb

Drowned his brother in the washing-tub

Sunk his bones in the boggy pools

Stole his silver, gold and jewels

Caught a-thieving by his kin

Cried cravenly to keep his skin

Squawk and simper, squeal and sob,

He fled a-howling from the mob

They drove him deep into the bog

Now he feasts on toad and frog

Wriggling maggot, worm and grub:

What a feast for Old Mad Ubb!

For titbits tender still he yearns,

With eyes that flare among the ferns:

For foal and filly, kid and neat,

And most of all, for children sweet.

In blackest shadows, his eyes burn

Rav’ning hungry to return

Lurking among ling and shrub:

Weeping, creeping Old Mad Ubb.

When cold wind wails and fir-tree creaks,

Through the gloom of night he sneaks.

O’er wooden wall and rooftops thatched,

Unlocked window, gate unlatched.

Old Mad Ubb, so quick and deft,

Snatches, catches, leaves bereft

The mothers of the babes he claims

And leaves them crying out their names.

So bolt your doors, make fast the shutters,

And listen for his moans and mutters.

Then light your lantern, torch, or lamp,

To drive him back to dark and damp.

Somewhere yet he lurks and lingers,

Scrabbling with his scabby fingers.

’Neath forest dark or dusky hill

Old Mad Ubb, he hungers still.

Keep close your sons and daughters dear

Mind the moors and marshes drear

For when the night grows black and cold

Comes crawling Ubb the Mad and Old.