What were it best that I should do:
For woe is me, an' I reach not there
Or ever the clock strike two."
"I have a son, a lytel son;
Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:
Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,
And he shall carry thy fardels down
To Euston, or half over London town,
On one of the station trucks."
Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,