From his using such shocking expressions, it's plain That Exciseman Gill was rather profane. He was, it is true, As bad as a Jew, A sad old scoundrel as ever you knew, And he rode in his stirrups sixteen stone two. --He'd just utter'd the words which I've mention'd to you, When his horse, coming slap on his knees with him, threw Him head over heels, and away he flew, And Exciseman Gill was bruised black and blue. When he arose, His hands and his clothes Were as filthy as could be,--he'd pitch'd on his nose, And roll'd over and over again in the mud, And his nose and his chin were all covered with blood; Yet he scream'd with passion, "I'd rather _grill_ Than not come up with that Smuggler Bill!" --"Mount! Mount!" quoth the Custom-house officer, "get On the back of my Dun, you'll bother him yet. Your words are plain, though they're somewhat rough, 'Done and Done' between gentlemen's always enough!-- I'll lend you a lift--there--you're up on him--so,-- He's a rum one to look at--_a devil to go!_" Exciseman Gill Dash'd up the hill, And mark'd not, so eager was he in pursuit, The queer Custom-house officer's queer-looking boot. Smuggler Bill rides on amain, He slacks not girth--and he draws not rein, Yet the dapple-grey mare bounds on in vain, For nearer now--and he hears it plain-- Sounds the tramp of a horse--"'Tis the Gauger again!" Smuggler Bill Dashes round by the mill That stands near the road upon Monkton Hill,-- "Now speed,--now speed, My dapple-grey steed, Thou ever, my dapple, wert good at need! O'er Monkton Mead, and through Minster Level, We'll baffle him yet, be he gauger or devil! For Manston Cave, away! away! Now speed thee, now speed thee, my good dapple-grey! It shall never be said that Smuggler Bill Was run down like a hare by Exciseman Gill!" Manston Cave was Bill's abode; A mile to the north of the Ramsgate Road, (Of late they say It's been taken away, That is, levell'd, and filled up with chalk and clay, By a gentleman there of the name of Day,) Thither he urges his good dapple-grey; And the dapple-grey steed, Still good at need, Though her chest it pants, and her flanks they bleed, Dashes along at the top of her speed; But nearer and nearer Exciseman Gill Cries "Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!" Smuggler Bill, he looks behind, And he sees a Dun horse come swift as the wind, And his nostrils smoke, and his eyes they blaze Like a couple of lamps on a yellow post-chaise! Every shoe he has got Appears red-hot! And sparks round his ears snap, crackle, and play, And his tail cocks up in a very odd way, Every hair in his mane seems a porcupine's quill, And there on his back sits Exciseman Gill, Crying "Yield thee! now yield thee, thou Smuggler Bill!"