Summary

Crafty miller, or, The mistaken batchelor (1802)

Our harvest is come, come lads to your reaping,
Your sickles are keen, come lads to your reaping,
Come lasses to glean, plough and sow.
⁠The sun peeps so broad, and the twylight is flown,
The dawn of the morning throws off the grey gown,
Come lads to your labour, 'tis welcome the day,
Your hearty meal's meat shall your labour repay.
Source: Wikisource

Crafty miller, or, The mistaken batchelor (1802)

The horsemen are mounted, & steeds feel the spur,
⁠and swiftly they scour it along,
Rapid after the fox runs each musical cur,
⁠follow, follow, my boys, is the song.
Over mountains and vallies they skim it away,
⁠now Reynard's almost out of sight.
But sooner than lose him we'll spend all the day
⁠in hunting, for that's their delight.
By eager pursuing they have him at last,
⁠he's so tir'd, poor rogue, down he lies;
Now starts up afresh, young Snap has him fast,
⁠he trembles, kicks, struggles, and dies.
Source: Wikisource

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