Mean stuff any place, sah, except in a churn.
I’m a temperate man as a general rule,
—The man who gits bit by the adder’s a fool,—
But when it comes hayin’ and folks have to strain,
I tell you, old cider’s a stand-by in Maine.”
Then Ephrum Wade reclined in the shade
And patiently gazed on the hay while it “made.”