That she should crush his hopes so flat,
And scorn his smiles, or worse than that,
“His Pickles.”
Away he drove, through wind and rain;
They tried to stop his course in vain.
By asking what he had to sell;
He wouldn’t stop but only yelled,
“Pickles.”
“Don’t drive so fast,” an old man said;
“That worn-out nag is nearly dead.”