Now, gentles all, attend this song, Tra-_la_, la-la, Tra-_la_, It is but short, it can't be long, Tra-_la_-la-la, Tra-_la_, How Farmer Brown one summer day Was in his field a-gathering hay, When by there came a pretty maid Who smiling sweetly to him said, Tra-_la_-la-la-Tra-_la_, Then Farmer Brown, though forty year, Tra-_la_, la-la, Tra-_la_, When he that pretty voice did hear, Tra-_la_-la-la, Tra-_la_, He threw his fork the nearest ditch And caught the maiden tightly, which Was what she wanted him to do, And so the same would all of you, Tra-_la_-la-la-Tra-_la_, But she withdrew from his embrace, Tra-_la_-la-la, Tra-_la_, And mocked poor Farmer to his face, Tra-_la_-la-la, Tra-_la_, And danced away along the lane And cried "Before I'm here again Poor Farmer Brown you'll dance with Pain," Tra-_la_-la-la-Tra-_la_, And that was true as you shall hear, Tra-_la_, la-la, Tra-_la_, Poor Farmer Brown danced many a year, Tra-_la_-la-la, Tra-_la_, But never once that maid did see, He grew as aged as aged could be, And danced in_to_ Eterni-tee, Tra-_la_-la-la-Tra-_la_. The red-flaming beadle moved down the steps, and behind him came the drum, the trumpet and the flute. The drum a stout fellow with wide spreading legs, had from the practice of many a year, and his father and grandfather having been drummers before him, caught the exact measure of the tune. Along the market-place went the beadle, the drum, the trumpet and the flute. For a moment a marvellous silence fell. To Harkness this silence was exquisite. The myriad stars, the high buildings, their façades ruby-coloured with the leaping light, the dark piled background, the crowd humming now with quiet, like water on the boil, the glow of rich suffused colour sheltering everything with its beautiful cloak, the rich voices tossing into the air the jolly song, the sense of well-being and the tradition of the lasting old time and the spirit of England eternally fresh and sturdy and strong; all this sank into his very soul and seemed to give him some hint of the deliverance that was, very soon, to come to him. Then the procession definitely formed. All the voices--men's, women's and children's alike--caught it up. One--two--three, one--two--three. The drum, the trumpet and the flute came to them through the air: How Farmer Brown one summer day Was in his field a-gathering hay, When by there came a pretty maid Who smiling sweetly to him said, Tra-_la_-la-la-Tra-_la._ He was never to be sure whether or no he had intended to join in the dance. He was not aware of more than the colour, the lights, the rhythm of the tune when a man like a mountain caught him by the arm, shouting, "Now we're off, brother--now we're off," and he was carried along.