Down home I was raising a flock of stock ewes, Cocks and hens, and wee chickens by scores, And lavendered linen all ready to use, A-dreaming that they would be yours. Mother said: “She’s a sport-making maiden, my son”; And a pretty sharp quarrel had we; O why do you prove by this wrong you have done That I saw not what mother could see? Never once did you say you was promised, Rose-Ann, Never once did I dream it to be; And it cuts to the heart to be treated, Rose-Ann, As you in your scorning treat me! THE HOMECOMING _GRUFFLY growled the wind on Toller downland broad and bare_, _And lonesome was the house_, _and dark_; _and few came there_. “Now don’t ye rub your eyes so red; we’re home and have no cares; Here’s a skimmer-cake for supper, peckled onions, and some pears; I’ve got a little keg o’ summat strong, too, under stairs: —What, slight your husband’s victuals? Other brides can tackle theirs!” _The wind of winter mooed and mouthed their chimney like a horn_, _And round the house and past the house ’twas leafless and lorn_. “But my dear and tender poppet, then, how came ye to agree In Ivel church this morning? Sure, there-right you married me!” —“Hoo-hoo!—I don’t know—I forgot how strange and far ’twould be, An’ I wish I was at home again with dear daddee!” _Gruffly growled the wind on Toller downland broad and bare_, _And lonesome was the house and dark_; _and few came there_. “I didn’t think such furniture as this was all you’d own, And great black beams for ceiling, and a floor o’ wretched stone, And nasty pewter platters, horrid forks of steel and bone, And a monstrous crock in chimney. ’Twas to me quite unbeknown!” _Rattle rattle went the door_; _down flapped a cloud of smoke_, _As shifting north the wicked wind assayed a smarter stroke_. “Now sit ye by the fire, poppet; put yourself at ease: And keep your little thumb out of your mouth, dear, please! And I’ll sing to ’ee a pretty song of lovely flowers and bees, And happy lovers taking walks within a grove o’ trees.” _Gruffly growled the wind on Toller Down_, _so bleak and bare_, _And lonesome was the house_, _and dark_; _and few came there_. “Now, don’t ye gnaw your handkercher; ’twill hurt your little tongue, And if you do feel spitish, ’tis because ye are over young; But you’ll be getting older, like us all, ere very long, And you’ll see me as I am—a man who never did ’ee wrong.” _Straight from Whit’sheet Hill to Benvill Lane the blusters pass_, _Hitting hedges_, _milestones_, _handposts_, _trees_, _and tufts of grass_. “Well, had I only known, my dear, that this was how you’d be, I’d have married her of riper years that was so fond of me. But since I can’t, I’ve half a mind to run away to sea, And leave ’ee to go barefoot to your d—d daddee!”