And I guess they would twitch the great globe out of place.
The match of our Ploughmen was ne’er matched before,
Save when a lorn lover is matched to his fair;
They turned the earth over as flat as this floor,
Such chaps the great globe, like an apple can pare.
In troth, all the world’s nothing more than a show
Of animals, shut up, or running at large,
You meet with queer creatures wherever you go,
And pity their keepers, who have them in charge.
A calf sent to college comes out a great bore,