Nor sleep on kiln of baking brick;
You are a fool that won’t take treat.”
A voice replied far up the street
“Young Lambs to sell.”
D4. upon his nightly round,
The Merchant in a corner found;
Upon his tin legged flock he lay,
His open mouth still seemed to say,
“Young Lambs to sell.”
There, in the bull’s-eyes shining round,