CUBBIN' THRO' THE RYE.
[Suggested by a recently reported incident in the Midlands, when a pack divided, one part getting out of hand and running among standing crops.]
| Gin a body meet a body Cubbin' thro' the rye, Gin a body tell a body, "Seed 'em in full cry," Useless then to blame the puppies, Useless too to lie; Whippers-in can't always stop 'em, Even when they try. Gin a body meet a body Cubbin' thro' the rye, What a body calls a body Dare I say?—not I; Farmers get distinctly stuffy, Neither are they shy, And Masters, when they're really rattled, Sometimes make reply. |