He pulls a book, and picks a note.
'That's Ten,' says he—'I hope to pay
Tens upon tens for loads of hay.'
'With all my heart, and soon,' says I,
And feeling for the change thereby;
But all my shillings com'd to five—
Says he, 'No matter, man alive!
There's something in your honest phiz
I'd trust, if twice the sum it is;—
You'll pay next time you come to town.'