“It must be the master’s fair daughter,” said Ned Palmer to his neighbour.
“I don’t think it,” was the reply; “but he is not willing to tell us, and it’s hardly fair to press him.”
“It’s a law, a positive law—I’ve told mine,” says John Ruddock, “and I don’t see why he should flinch from the name. I must have it.”
“The name! the name!" exclaimed one or two resolute fellows.
A tear stood in Jack’s eye. This might be a good joke to some; but the elders of the party, who saw it, especially honest Tom Keeble, the lord of the evening, felt for the young man that respect which induced him to make a sortie or parley, in the hope of giving him relief.
“Riches,” said he, “as the jug stands by you, I shall call upon you for a song. Our young friend may, by the time you have entertained us, have recovered himself; and, after your song, I shall order the jug round to drink your health, if we do not get the lass.”
Now, Will prided himself upon his vocal powers, and was a bold, forward fellow. He had no objection to sing, nor had any of the company any objection to his song; and, truth to tell, all hoped the jug of brown ale would not be stopped long, either for the song or for “the favourite lass.” So Will sang his song.
“I’ll sing you a new song,” says he. “I’ll sing you one in which you can all join in chorus in the house, as you have often done in the field. I’ll sing you—
‘HALLO LARGESS.’”
Accordingly, he lifted up his voice, and sang this truly happy and appropriate harvest song:—