To hear his hay had gone so high.
But lord! when I laid down the note,
It stuck the victuals in his throat,
And chok'd him till his face all grew
Like pickling-cabbage, red and blue;
With such big goggle eyes, Ods nails!
They seem'd a-coming out like snails!
'A note,' says he, half mad with passion,
'Why, thou dom'd fool! thou'st took a flash 'un!'
Now, wasn't that a pretty mess?