He knew that the plum-tree bark was rough,
And the branches were low and wide.
So straight for the tree old Billy steered,
And vainly we shouted “Whoa!”
His mind was fixed, and he never veered
From the path where he meant to go.
Under the tree he firmly trod,
(’Twas just high enough for him,)
And we went tumbling on the sod.
Scraped off by a scraggly limb.