The rain will wash your wares away,
The wind will blow them up sky high,
But loud and shrill he still did cry—
“Young Lambs to sell!”
“Oh, stay and drink” the Toper cried;
“They’ll chalk me up a can inside.”
His ferret eye a twinkle gave,
But constantly he tipped the stave—
“Young Lambs to sell.”
“Beware the Peeler’s truncheon thick,