Said he, a halter, rascal, you deserve;
You'll never from the gallows-turnpike swerve:
Or, soon or late you swinging will be found
Who, born for hanging, ever yet was drowned?
Howe'er you'll smile to hear my lenient voice;
Observe, three punishments await your choice;
Take which you will.--The first is, you shall eat,
Of strongest garlick, thirty heads complete;
No drink you'll have between, nor sleep, nor rest;
You know a breach of promise I detest.
Or, on your shoulders further I propose,
To give you, with a cudgel, thirty blows.
Or, if more pleasing, that you truly pay,
The sum of thirty pounds without delay.

THE peasant 'gan to turn things in his mind:--
Said he, to take the heads I'm not inclined;
No drink, you say, between; that makes it worse;
To eat the garlick thus, would prove a curse.
Nor can I suffer on my tender back,
That, with a cudgel, thirty blows you thwack.
Still harder thirty pounds to pay appeared;
Uncertain how to act, he hanging feared.
The noble peer he begged, upon his knees,
His penitence to hear, and sentence ease.
But mercy dwelled not with the angry lord
Is this, cried he, the answer?--bring a cord.
The peasant, trembling lest his life was sought;
The garlick chose, which presently was brought.