13
And as he was on his way home,
And riding along the same lane,
He seed—his silly old mare,
Tied up to the hedge by the mane.
14
He loosed his old mare from the hedge,
As she of the grass there did crib,
He gi'ed her a whack o' the broad o' the back,
Saying "Follow me home, old Tib."
15
Aw! When to his home he were come
His daughter he dress'd like a duchess,
And his ol' woman kicked and she capered for joy,
And at Christmas danced jigs on her crutches.
Singing, Too-ra-la-loo-ra-loo.
[No 19 THE MONTHS OF THE YEAR]
C.J.S.