The scholars think I’ve little wit,
But, God! I’ve got my share of it.
Why does the gorbing land-shark
Leave ploughed rigs for the green park?
Where little’s to find, and nothing’s to eat
But rabbits’ droppings and pheasants’ meat.
He knows better than come my way
Between the mouth and the tail of day.
For one lick of my hurding wattle
Would lay him out like a showman’s bottle!