HOW MOSSOO SHOT THE COCK-PHEASANT
(The Gamekeeper's Story)
He were a sort o' Frenchman, sir,
And called hisself a Duck:
I never could make head or tail
O' that there furrin muck!
He came to stay wi' Master there.
And brought his guns and that—
But bless you, sir! he could na' shoot,
No more than this here hat!
The Master and the Frenchman went
To shoot the spinney-kivver
What reaches from the stable-wall
Right down to that there river.
A rocketing cock flew up at wunst,
And Mossoo he fired, and missed—
How he did swear, and tear his hair,
And shake his little fist!
The way that Mossoo danced about,
It really were a sight!
He'd grin, and pull his beard, and shout
And screech with all his might.
He wore a thing across his nose
Just like a kind o' shear:
I think he said he were "my hop"—
Which means his sight were near.
Mossoo he yelled, "I see him zere,
Upon ze stable top!"
With that he banged off right and left—
I seed a summat drop;
I ran to pick up that there bird;
And 'neath the stable-clock
I found it sure enow—it were
Our new gilt weather-cock!
BRADBURY, AGNEW, & CO. LTD., PRINTERS, LONDON AND TONBRIDGE.