And once, behind a rick of barley, Right glad was he when he beheld her: Stick after stick did Goody pull, He stood behind a bush of elder, Till she had filled her apron full. And fiercely by the arm he took her, And fiercely by the arm he shook her, Her bundle from her lap let fall; And kneeling on the sticks, she pray'd She pray'd, her wither'd hand uprearing, He went complaining all the morrow His face was gloom, his heart was sorrow, Alas! that day for Harry Gill! That day he wore a riding-coat, 'Twas all in vain, a useless matter, And all who see him say 'tis plain, No word to any man he utters, Poor Harry Gill is very cold." |