And he was as skinny as bard mote be,
And his locks hung down o’er his shoulders flat,
As my grandmother says like the tail of a rat;
And away he went with a hem and a haw!
To make the old mastiff lie still in her straw—
Without the kennel the mastiff old,
Lay snoring fast in ‘moonshine cold.’
He kick’d her once, he kick’d her twice,
But the old bitch snapp’d at his fingers thrice.
Then Bracy kick’d her again, times four,