Читать книгу The Collected Novels - William Harrison Ainsworth - Страница 51

Then who can name So merry a game, As the game of all games — high toby?84

The traveller hears him, away! away!

Over the wide wide heath he scurries;

He heeds not the thunderbolt summons to stay,

But ever the faster and faster he hurries.

But what daisy-cutter can match that black tit?

He is caught — he must “stand and deliver;"

Then out with the dummy85, and off with the bit,86 Oh! the game of high toby for ever!