Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! And for the knacker's yard--that's not my destined bed: No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead.
ROOM TO ROAM.
Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home.
COTTAGE SONGS.