“Go, ride him to the knacker's yard;
He'll fetch two pounds, it may be three;
Sell him, and bring the price to me.”
I saw the old groom wince away,
He looked the thoughts he dared not say;
Then from his fob he slowly drew
A leather pouch of faded hue.
“Master,” said he, “my means are small,
This purse of leather holds them all;
But I have neither kith nor kin,