On all he mark’d, he stretch’d his ready hand;
He fish’d by water and he filch’d by land:
Oft in the night has Peter dropp’d his oar,
Fled from his boat, and sought for prey on shore;
Oft up the hedge-row glided, on his back
Bearing the orchard’s produce in a sack,
Or farm-yard load, tugg’d fiercely from the stack;
And as these wrongs to greater numbers rose,
The more he look’d on all men as his foes.
He built a mud-wall’d hovel, where he kept