“Will, won’t ye hurry up? The fokes is waitin’,”
An’ then she tried ter start a line o’ talk.
But ’t want no use; Bill sez: “Ez I was statin’,
Each time we’d try ter shoo ’im off he’d balk,
“An’ wouldn’t stir; then I felt under ’im,
Reel careful like, an’ say, yew wouldn’t b’leeve it,
But”—Laury now was lookin’ kind o’ grim,
An’ told ’im t’ either carve thet bird or leave it.
But Bill kep’ on regardless: “Next I see
O’ him he’s leadin’ round a yeller goslin’!