He supp'd like a lord,—on a pillow of down
He slept like a king, and he snored like a clown.
Boniface said, as he popp'd in his head,
“In that little crib by the side of your bed,
As honest a farmer as e'er stood in shoes,
(My chambers are full) would be glad of a snooze.”
The farmer began, as in clover he lay,
To talk of his clover, his corn-rigs, and hay,
His bullocks, his heifers, his pigs, and his wife;
Not a wink could our Harlequin get for his life.