Not having had space at command, when giving a short Addit. Note on p.
408 of _M. D. C._, we now add a nursery rhyme (we should gladly have
given another, which mentions catching the mare “Napping up a tree”).
Perhaps the following may be the song reported as being sung in South
Devon:—
_~Moss~ was a little man, and a little mare did buy,_
_For kicking and for sprawling none her could come nigh;_
_She could trot, she could amble, and could canter here and there,_
_But one night she strayed away—so ~Moss~ lost his Mare._
_~Moss~ got up next morning to catch her fast asleep,_
_And round about the frosty fields so nimbly he did creep._
_Dead in a ditch he found her, and glad to find her there,_
_So I’ll tell you by and bye, how ~Moss~ caught his mare._
_Rise! stupid, rise! he thus to her did say,_
_Arise you beast, you drowsy beast, get up without delay,_
_For I must ride you to the town, so don’t lie sleeping there,_
_He put the halter round her neck—so ~Moss~ caught his mare._
As that prematurely wise young sceptic Paul Dombey declared, when a
modern-antique Legend was proffered to him, “I don’t believe that story!”
It is frightfully devoid of _ærugo_, even of _æruca_. It may do for South
Devon, and for Aylesbury farmers over their “beer and bacca,” but not for
us. The true Mosse found his genuine mare veritably “napping” (not dead),
up a real tree.
In John Taylor’s “_A Swarme of Sectaries and Schismatiqves_,” 1641, his
motto is (concerning Sam Howe lecturing from a tub),
_The Cobler preaches and his Audience are_
_As wise as ~Mosse~ was, when he caught his Mare._