Ploughman and labourer lift their hats and stare,
And take me for the Worshipful the Mayor.
Entering the inn in unembarrassed wise,
I say, “I think I’ll stay awhile,” and then
To find my horse they cast inquiring eyes;
“They wanted me to take one,” I explain,
“But not to walk a bit were sin, I say,
In such fine weather as we have to-day.”
And that they may not think that I am tired,
I stamp about the kitchen till it shakes.