He back o’er the hill tumbled down.
Not finding the thing that he wanted,
Unto Hedleywood he did trot,
He was tost like a dog in a blanket,
O’er Coquet and back in the boat:
All Framlington fields he sought over,
And from spot to spot he did run,
For fear the grass chanced to cover
His pad, as it once did Tom Thumb.
Then up to John Alders he drabbeth,