When there in t' road, 'gin barton gate,
I see a body, sim faint and ill.
'Twere one o' these yer cyclist folk,
Us ha'n't sin much on 'em Quantock way,
But Robert to Lunnon, he've often spoke
O' women in breeks—more shame, I say.
Well, there! 'twere one on 'em, sure as sure;
Look fair a-doneded—her must ha' bin—
So, breeks or no, when her knock on t' door,
"Wark in," I says to her. "Plase to wark in."