When the bagpipes bated the bull;
I am king of the fidlers, and sware ’tis a truth,
And I call him that doubts it a gull.
45
For I saw them fighting, and fidld the while,
And Clorinda sung, Hey derry down!
The bumpkins are beaten, put up thy sword, Bob,
And now let’s dance into the town.
46
Before we came to it, we heard a strange shouting,