That not a note would he proceed,
He’d hold it a purposed slur and slight
Unless he were leading horse.
“A deacon to choose at Tal-y-Coed,
Most woeful discord wrought,
For every chapel-member declared
The office was that he sought.
And he would scorn,
For this thing born,
To be set back, as not worth a thorn,
By all the sciet, a thing of naught!
For he would be leading horse.
“Our Boxer once was set in the shafts