Witch Bottle

I stand by the fireside
Standing guard never by your side
They set me in mortared stone
Here to take the devil on

He won't knock upon your door
But down the chimney to the hearth
Inside me are many things
Your own clothes, bent metal pins

Bounded up with clods of earth
Your water too, all mix'd in
When he comes he'll think I'm you
And I'll trap him in my flue

No harm will come to you and yours
Cos I have him by the horns