Iv

The High-pad quickly cut the farmer's towel in twain-- Pulled out his barking-iron to send daylight through his brain; But said he I will not down you, if you will but disburse Your rowdy with me, yeoman--I'm content to whack your purse! Down with the dust, and save your life, Your consent will end our strife, Ain't your life worth more than gold? Derry down.