The High-pad quickly cut the farmer's towel in twain-- [9]
Pulled out his barking-iron to send daylight through his brain; [10]
But said he I will not down you, if you will but disburse
Your rowdy with me, yeoman--I'm content to whack your purse! [11]
Down with the dust, and save your life, [12]
Your consent will end our strife,
Ain't your life worth more than gold?
Derry down.
V
Hand up the pewter, farmer, you shall have a share [13]
A kindness, for a toby gloque, you must say is rare;
That's right--tip up the kelter, it will make my bones amends, [14]
And wherever we may meet, farmer, we'll be the best of friends!
So mount your trotter and away, [15]
And if you ever come this way,
Take better care of your gold!
Derry down.