  Tailsman. Goad her, and whip her, and drive, The old woman's little brown mare, Stand up on the plough, look alive, And see if our dinner is there. Headsman. The corn is a-reaping, Goad her and whip her and drive. The stooks are a-heaping, Goad her and whip her and drive. The corn is a-binding, Goad her and whip her and drive. In the mill it is grinding, Goad her and whip her and drive. We soon shall be feeding, Goad her and whip her and drive. For the flour is a-kneading, Goad her and whip her and drive. The bread is a-baking, Goad her and whip her and drive. Our dinner we are taking,— She's the best little mare alive! Tailsman. Whistle and shout with zest! The little brown mare is good! Unyoke her, and give her a rest, While we're stretching and getting our food. |
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