At last we reaches nigh the gate,
And, sure enough, there Master stand,
A lantern flaring in his hand,—
'Why, Giles,' says he, 'what's that 'un thear?
Yond' chestnut horse bean't my bay mear!
He bean't not worth a leg o' Bess!'
There's Hagricultural Distress!"
HOB.
"That's nothin yet, to Tom's mishap!
A-gooing through the yard, poor chap,