'It's time to talk about that hay,'
'Nine pund,' says he, 'and I'm your man,
Live, and let live—for that's my plan.'
'That's true,' says I, 'but still I say,
It's nine pun' ten for that 'ere hay,'
And so we chaffers for a bit,
At long and last the odds we split;
And off he sets to show the way,
Where up a yard I leaves the hay.
Then, from the pocket of his coat,