—The yeoman, master of the feast,
Was kind, and own'd me as his guest,
And as he view'd each added fleece
That did his summer wealth encrease,
He joyous made the toast go round
To the song's animating sound,
While the patient ewes grown light,
And eas'd of all their fleecy weight,
No more the shearer's hand restrain
But bound off to their hills again.