The moon is full, and so am I;
  The night is late, the ale was good;
And I must go two miles and more
  Along a country road.

Now what is this that's drawing near?
  It seems a man, and tall;
But where the face should show its white
  I see no white at all.

Where is his face: or do I see
  The back part of his head,
And, with his face turned round about,
  He walks this way? I said.

He's close at hand, but where's the face?
  What devil is this I see?
I'm glad my body's warm with ale,
  There's trouble here for me.

I clutch my staff, I make a halt,
  'His blood or mine,' said I.
'Good-night,' the black man said to me,
  As he went passing by.