Thinks Abey, t’ oud codger ‘ll nivver smoak t’ trick, I’ll swop wi’ him my poor deead horse for his wick, {210a} An’ if Tommy I nobbut {210b} can happen ta trap, ’Twill be a fine feather i’ Aberram cap! Soa to Tommy he goas, an’ the question he pops: ‘Betwin thy horse and mine, prithee, Tommy, what swops? What wilt gi’ me ta boot? for mine’s t’better horse still!’ ‘Nout,’ says Tommy, ‘I’ll swop ivven hands, an’ ye will.’ Abey preaached a lang time about summat ta boot, Insistin’ that his war the liveliest brute; But Tommy stuck fast where he first had begun, Till Abey shook hands, and sed, ‘Well, Tommy, done! ‘O! Tommy,’ sed Abey, ‘I’ze sorry for thee, I thowt thou’d a hadden mair white i’ thy ’ee; Good luck’s wi’ thy bargin, for my horse is deead.’ ‘Hey!’ says Tommy, ‘my lad, soa is min, an it’s fleead?’ Soa Tommy got t’ better of t’ bargin, a vast, An’ cam off wi’ a Yorkshireman’s triumph at last; For thof ’twixt deead horses there’s not mitch to choose, Yet Tommy war richer by t’ hide an’ fower shooes. THE KING AND THE COUNTRYMAN. [THIS popular favourite is a mere abridgment and alteration of a poem preserved in the Roxburgh Collection, called _The King and Northern Man_, _shewing how a poor Northumberland man_ (_tenant to the King_) _being wronged by a lawyer_ (_his neighbour_) _went to the King himself to make known his grievance_. _To the tune of __Slut_. Printed by and for Alex. Melbourne, at the Stationer’s Arms in Green Arbour Court, in the Little Old Baily. The Percy Society printed _The King and Northern Man_ from an edition published in 1640. There is also a copy preserved in the Bagford Collection, which is one of the imprints of W. Onley. The edition of 1640 has the initials of Martin Parker at the end, but, as Mr. Collier observes, ‘There is little doubt that the story is much older than 1640.’ See preface to Percy Society’s Edition.] THERE was an old chap in the west country, A flaw in the lease the lawyers had found, ’Twas all about felling of five oak trees, And building a house upon his own ground. Right too looral, looral, looral—right too looral la! Now, this old chap to Lunnun would go, To tell the king a part of his woe, Likewise to tell him a part of his grief, In hopes the king would give him relief. Now, when this old chap to Lunnun had come, He found the king to Windsor had gone; But if he’d known he’d not been at home, He danged his buttons if ever he’d come. Now, when this old chap to Windsor did stump, The gates were barred, and all secure, But he knocked and thumped with his oaken clump, There’s room within for I to be sure. But when he got there, how he did stare, To see the yeomen strutting about; He scratched his head, and rubbed down his hair, In the ear of a noble he gave a great shout: