My goodman skurried adown the road.
(Sing hey, for the joyous drinking bout!)
And after the ochre cur he sped
With many a gruesome shout.
“Now why this haste, good neighbour?” she cried;
“Why after the dog of the umber tint?”
But, waking the echoes with yells, he sped
Through the twilight’s gleam and glint.
A smug-face lad looked over the fence
(Sing hey, where the birdlings sing and chirp,)