‘Let some o th’ prisoner lean on me;’
‘The diel o there,’ quo Dicky than,
‘He’s no the wightdom of a flea.’
27
They are on o that gray mare,
And they are on o her aw three,
And they linked the irons about her neck,
And galloped the street right wantonly.
28
‘To horse, to horse,’ then, ‘all,’ he says,