Page:A Selection of Original Songs, Scraps, Etc., by Ned Farmer (3rd ed.).djvu/155



I've said, 'twas night, returning from a friend's, (So ever joy, with some sad sorrow blends,) We had been spending a gay happy night, My head, my heart, my pockets—all were light. Prudence had whisper'd of the coming day, And so, unknown to all, I stole away; My gun—(I had been shooting on that day,) (Would it had been ten thousand miles away,) I !—oh most dire mishap, That e'er I made in Foden's fence a gap. To make the distance less, my way I took Over the fields by way of Brockley's brook; When crossing Vincent's close, before me stood Between the Gibbet-lane and Wadley's wood, The figure of a man!—his outstretch'd arms To intercept me, raised my worst alarms. Behind me, too, quick hurrying steps came on, I felt, all hope of an escape was gone! What fiend impelled—what monster coined the thought? Enough to tell—the fatal gun I caught. Raised to my shoulder, and—my eye-balls start— I fired the murderous charge ! As I supposed; but truth demands these words— It was a, set to frighten birds! The coming steps I'd heard, with shame I must confess, Was Allen's drunken cowman—neither more nor less, Who having joined me, said, as homeward we were walking, "I say, what made you shoot at Mr. Vincent's mawkin?"