Walked beside the Skuntic water,
Gathering, in her apron wet,
Snakeroot, mint, and bouncing-bet.
'Why,' he murmured, loath to leave her,
'Gather yarbs for chills and fever,
When a lovyer, bold and true,
Only waits to gather you?'
'Go,' she answered, 'I'm not hasty;
I prefer a man more tasty:
Leastways, one to please me well