And lest his troubles shou’d increase, A farrier was provided, Well skill’d in Markham’s master-piece, Who in this town resided; And, to his everlasting fame, He did exert his cunning, He bled his legs, and in his wame, Two tapps he there set running. He several med’cines did apply, Whose virtue was so pure, That in six weeks, or very nigh, He made a perfect cure. And now in all the world besides, There’s not a sounder creature, So well he scampers, and he rides, But never more with Peter. Of him I now design to speak, A Yorkshire born and bred, sir, He play’d them all a Yorkshire trick, And then away he fled, sir. As you shall hear when home he came, With Jennet upon Sandy, He to his work return’d again, And she unto her grandy. But long with her she tarry’d not, Unsettled was her notion, Just like the pend’lum of a clock, That’s always in a motion. I’ll go to service, she did say, Keep me, you can’t afford it; So one she got, where was it pray? E’en where her spark was boarded. Now whether ’twas for want of beds, Or whether ’twas cold weather, Or whether ’twas to measure legs, That they lay both together; But as they smuggl’d for a while, And gave out they were marry’d, Till she at length did prove with child, Then all things were miscarry’d. Then he did own his fault was great, He’d make her satisfaction; And fearing penance in a sheet, He’d suffer for that action, He marry’d her without delay, And got their nuptial lesson, Which to confirm they went streightway To get their grandy’s blessing. When in her presence they were come, She rail’d at them like thunder, For shame, cries she, what have you done, That’s brought on you this blunder? She call’d her slut and brazen fac’d, Instead of kind caressing, Our family you have disgrac’d, Can you expect a blessing? But like a stormy winter’s night, Next morning turns calm weather, So grandy’s passion soon took flight, She pray’d that they together Might live in love and happiness, Enjoying peace and plenty, Long may they health and wealth possess, And pockets ne’er grow empty. When they had grandy’s blessing got, They slily fled away, sir, He all the bricks did leave unwrought, And many debts to pay, sir. Now all good people, warning take, How you do trust to strangers, They’ll wheedle you for money’s sake, And still prove country rangers. [Illustration] FROM THE SWAINS OF FELTON, TO THE _Shepherds of Lanthernside, Northumberland_, 1787. _Tune._--General F--r--’s March. He’s gone! he’s gone! The conquering hero’s gone! To barren lands in Lanthernside, To sow Lucern upon. Rejoice ye sons of Lanthernside, and Io pæan sing, Since land-improving F----r vouchsafes to be your king!