Not finding the thing that he wanted, Unto Hedleywood he did trot, He was tost like a dog in a blanket, O’er Coquet and back in the boat: All Framlington fields he sought over, And from spot to spot he did run, For fear the grass chanced to cover His pad, as it once did Tom Thumb. Then up to John Alders he drabbeth, And there all the night did repose, And then, the next day being Sabbath, Away he to Whittingham goes; Where he to revenge the miscarriage Of his little scatter-brain’d nag, He went to the clerk of the parish, To get him expos’d for a vague. The clerk he soon set up his cropping, And made a great bustle and stear; The church-yard appear’d like a hopping, The folks drew about so to hear: He did to a hairs-breadth describe him, And call’d him again and again, And Geordy by four-pence did bribe him, For all the small pains he had ta’n. Scarce were the jaw-bones of these asses Well shut, till a Thrunton-bred lad, Eas’d Geordy a bit of his crosses, By bringing him news of his pad: These tidings his spirit renewed, No clerk cou’d his courage controul, But still was resolv’d to pursue it, Suppose it were to the North pole. ’Tis past a man’s giving account on, What way he traversed with speed, From Eslington, Whittingham, Thrunton, He past the Broom-park and Hill-head, To Learchild, to Barton, to Branton, And from thence to Mount on the clay, To Fawdon, the Clinch, and to Glanton, And several towns mist by the way. There’s Lemington, Abberwick, Bolton, With Woodhall that stands on the fell, And Titlington’s likewise untold on, Where Jacob, of old, dig’d his well; To Harup, to Hidgily and Beanly, He past unto Callaly mill, To Brandon, to Ingram, and Reavely, And Crawley that stands on a hill. To Brandon-main, then to the Whitehouse, To Dickison’s where he made league, And articled that for a night-house, To rest a while after fatigue: He drank a while till he grew mellow, And then for his chamber did call, Where sound he may sleep, silly fellow, His travels wou’d weary us all. He had an invincible couple Of legs, that did bear him well out, They hung so loose, like a flail-souple, And cudgel’d his buttocks about; No man who’d have thought any hallion Could ever have acted the thing, Without help of Pacolet’s stallion,[46] That when the pin turn’d did take wing. Next day rising, rigging and starting, He jogg’d on his journey with speed, To Bewick, the Lilburns, Coldmartin, From thence unto Woolerhaugh-head; To Wooperton, Ilderton, Rodham, And Rosedon, he scudded like mad, Nothing fell by the way that withstood him, Until he had met with his pad.