Great was the clatter, the noise and array, Of farmers at dinner the next market day. The host of the Crown In Diddleton town Counted up on his fingers that forty sat down To devour his hot roast and to drink his best ale, Whilst they talked over crops, or reckoned the sale Of their hay and their oats, And the eels from their moats, Of their lucerne, their tares, Their apples, their pears, Their boars and their sows, Their calves and their cows; But one and all joined, when the dinner had past, In the cry "Now the raffle; who'll win her at last?" But amidst all the noise one farmer was still, Till he'd given his stomach a right hearty fill. Then from deep 'neath his waistcoat a deeper voice stuttered, "Cousin Stumps, thou'lt be in't, mind, and I'll share wi' you, And Hodge, bo', you've paid, and I'm halves wi' you too. And as for _my_ meaning, I'se just dropped the tin, And wi' your luck and mine I feel cock-sure to win. I doant come from Yorkshire for nothing, you know— It's just three to one that I win on the throw; And my luck, which has stood up so mony a time, Makes me sure in a hour the beast'll be mine." —— "Clear off the dishes and cloth in a trice; Bring in the grog and bring in the dice, Two, three, four, and seven, Eight, ten, and eleven." The dice rattle down, and the numbers are told, One after another the farmers are _sold_. Till it's Farmer York's turn, And his digits they burn To handle the box and to give it the twist That at old Crockford's College is taught to the wrist. The ivories clatter— All silence their chatter, As they see with surprise and vexation enow, How Dame Fortune will always well grease the fat sow. The gamble is done— Fat Yorkshire has won! And the heifer, the glory of Diddleton town, Is to trudge to his straw-yard from that of old Brown. "Stop awhile", halloos Stumps, "half York's chance was mine, And, safe enough, Hodge, t'other half must be thoine: He went 'halves' in my chance, and he went shares in yours; _And he's won the prize heifer to make it all ours_. He don't come from Yorkshire for nothing, you see, But makes 'cock sure to win'—for you and for me". MORAL. Now all good youths and maidens, pray, Who this true story scan, Remember what I'm going to say. And act on't—if you can; Still on life's chequered strange highway, Whatever path you cross, Don't be too greedy, or you may Make sure to win—_a loss_.