John Wilson, Recreations of Christopher North…
“ Wheat has no business there, and should keep to the carses. In spring, she takes him by the braird till he looks yellow in the face long before his time—in summer, by the cuff of the neck till he lies down on his back and rots in the rain—in autumn, by the ears, and rubs him against the grain till he expires as fushionless as the windle-straes with which he is interlaced—in winter, she shakes him in the stook till he is left but a shadow which pigeons despise. ”
