"That you may be seven times worse this day twelvemonths, you rogue of a crane," says Owen; "I can't get off you now, so don't ask me."
"I don't care," replied the crane, "if you'll rise off me a while till I'll take a rest."
With that they saw threshers over their heads, and Owen shouted:
"Och! thresher, thresher, leave down your flail at me, that I may give the crane a rest!"
The thresher left down the flail, but when Owen took a hold with his two hands, the crane went from him laughing and mocking.
"My share of misfortunes go with you!" said Owen, "It's you've left me in a fix hanging between the heavens and the water in the middle of the great sea."
It wasn't long till the thresher shouted to him to leave go the flail.
"I won't let it go," said Owen; "shan't I be drowned?"
"If you don't let it go, I'll cut the whang."