Peg Fyfe

The tale of an East Yorkshire felon and reputed witch, who notoriously skinned a lad alive after he foiled her plot to steal a horse, and then almost cheated the hangman’s noose.

In Wicstun town in days all gone 300 years or more
On billowed leas a deadly game was played
A wicked host of outlaws with a devil at their core
A harridan to light their evil way
Peg Fyfe would be the demon Queen of England
A ransom on us all that we must pay

About these parts and more beyond as far as seething waves
In thievery and witching lay her fame
With pistol drawn and curses made to send folk to their graves
Strong men would shake at mention of her name
And if her prey should disregard misfortune
She’d lay them waste to raise her bloody claim

Now Peg did task a stable lad to keep his eyes a blind
That she might steal his master’s horse away
And should he speak about it to another humankind
From every bone his precious skin she’d flay
But the boy did ask his keeper to the stable
And told the steed of words that Peg did say

Hearing of the beastly deed that Peggy Fyfe had planned
The master kept a vigil with his men
And when she came a-calling with a dozen robbing hands
His paladins waylaid her there and then
Scattered far and wide all by the ambush
The dozen hands returned home as just ten

For many months she waited for the moment to arise
To carry out the promises she made
And a gruesome bloody reckoning was taken for a prize
When the poor and screaming stable boy was flayed
They laid her down in prison and commenced upon a trial
And sent her to the gallows for her pains
And though the rope was scuppered by the silver of her guile
By passing Knights while hanging she was slain