I was ploughing between the rows of corn,
When I heard Dirck Bergen blow his horn.
I let the reins in quiet drop;
I bade my horse in the furrow stop,
And the sweet green leaves unheeded crop.
Down at the fence I waited till
Dirck galloped down the sloping hill,
Blowing his conch-horn with a will.
“Ho, neighbor! stop!” to Dirck I cried,
“And tell me why so fast you ride—