'As sure,' says I, 'as corn is brown.'
'All right,' says he.—Thinks I 'huzza!
He's got no bargain of the hay!'
"Well, home I goes, with empty cart,
Whipping the horses pretty smart,
And whistling ev'ry yard o' way,
To think how well I'd sold the hay—
And just cotch'd Master at his greens
And bacon, or it might be beans,
Which didn't taste the worse surely,