And O the rich Marchpane she made!
And O the rare quince marmalade!)
Just as the squire was satisfied,
The noise of feet was heard outside;
A knock. "Come in!" Sir Herbert cried.
And lo! John Grigg in Sunday smock;
Begged pardon, pulled an oily lock;
Explained: "The mud's above the hough.
"No horse could draw 'ee sir," he said.
"Humph!" quoth the squire and scratched his head.