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Updated: May 4, 2025
"What the hell are ye afert for?" and the woman, thinking it was her husband returned from work, immediately opened the door. "You're shairly early," she said; then suddenly recognizing who the intruder was, she tried to shut the door. "Na, na," said Geordie, now well in the doorway, "I want to see Black Jock." "He's no' here," she lied readily enough, but with some agitation in her voice.
"Ich am afert Lo whet ich see Methinketh hit be develes thre." Over the Skeletons. "Ich wes wel fair Such schel tou be For Godes love be wer by me." In these rude lines is the whole moral of the legend, and of the Dance of Death which grew out of it. That growth was simple, gradual, and natural.
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