Old Nick's astride the beast, 'tis clear!
Old Nicholas, to a tittle!
But all agree he'd disappear, [75]
Would but the Parson venture near,
And through his teeth,[302:1] right o'er the steer,
Squirt out some fasting-spittle.
XIV
Achilles was a warrior fleet,
The Trojans he could worry: [80]
Our Parson too was swift of feet,
But shew'd it chiefly in retreat:
The victor Ox scour'd down the street,
The mob fled hurry-scurry.
XV
Through gardens, lanes and fields new-plough'd, 85
Through his hedge, and through her hedge,
He plung'd and toss'd and bellow'd loud—
Till in his madness he grew proud
To see this helter-skelter crowd
That had more wrath than courage! [90]
XVI
Alas! to mend the breaches wide
He made for these poor ninnies,
They all must work, whate'er betide,
Both days and months, and pay beside
(Sad news for Av'rice and for Pride), [95]
A sight of golden guineas!
But here once more to view did pop
The man that kept his senses—
And now he cried,—'Stop, neighbours, stop!
The Ox is mad! I would not swop, [100]
No! not a school-boy's farthing top
For all the parish-fences.'