<h2><SPAN name="page36"></SPAN><span class="pagenum"></span>WANDERERS.</h2>
<p class="poetry"><span class="smcap">As</span> o’er the
hill we roam’d at will,<br/>
My dog and I together,<br/>
We mark’d a chaise, by two bright bays<br/>
Slow-moved along the heather:</p>
<p class="poetry">Two bays arch neck’d, with tails erect<br/>
And gold upon their blinkers;<br/>
And by their side an ass I spied;<br/>
It was a travelling tinker’s.</p>
<p class="poetry">The chaise went by, nor aught cared I;<br/>
Such things are not in my way:<br/>
I turn’d me to the tinker, who<br/>
Was loafing down a by-way:</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page37"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
37</span>I ask’d him where he lived—a stare<br/>
Was all I got in answer,<br/>
As on he trudged: I rightly judged<br/>
The stare said, “Where I can, sir.”</p>
<p class="poetry">I ask’d him if he’d take a whiff<br/>
Of ’bacco; he acceded;<br/>
He grew communicative too,<br/>
(A pipe was all he needed,)<br/>
Till of the tinker’s life, I think,<br/>
I knew as much as he did.</p>
<p class="poetry">“I loiter down by thorp and town;<br/>
For any job I’m willing;<br/>
Take here and there a dusty brown,<br/>
And here and there a shilling.</p>
<p class="poetry">“I deal in every ware in turn,<br/>
I’ve rings for buddin’ Sally<br/>
That sparkle like those eyes of her’n;<br/>
I’ve liquor for the valet.</p>
<p class="poetry"><SPAN name="page38"></SPAN><span class="pagenum">p.
38</span>“I steal from th’ parson’s
strawberry-plots,<br/>
I hide by th’ squire’s covers;<br/>
I teach the sweet young housemaids what’s<br/>
The art of trapping lovers.</p>
<p class="poetry">“The things I’ve done ’neath
moon and stars<br/>
Have got me into messes:<br/>
I’ve seen the sky through prison bars.<br/>
I’ve torn up prison dresses.</p>
<p class="poetry">“I’ve sat, I’ve sigh’d,
I’ve gloom’d, I’ve glanced<br/>
With envy at the swallows<br/>
That through the window slid, and danced<br/>
(Quite happy) round the gallows;</p>
<p class="poetry">“But out again I come, and show<br/>
My face nor care a stiver<br/>
For trades are brisk and trades are slow,<br/>
But mine goes on for ever.”</p>
<p class="poetry">Thus on he prattled like a babbling brook.<br/>
Then I, “The sun hath slipt behind the hill,<br/>
And my aunt Vivian dines at half-past six.”<br/>
So in all love we parted; I to the Hall,<br/>
They to the village. It was noised next noon<br/>
That chickens had been miss’d at Syllabub Farm.</p>
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