But I am kind, and clearly will decide
          The year concluded, we’ll the fruits divided. 
          What crop, pray tell me, dost thou mean to sow? 
          The clod replied, my lord, what best will grow
          I think is Tousell; grain of hardy fame;
          The imp rejoined, I never heard its name;
          What is it.  Tousell, say’st thou?—­I agree,
          If good return, ’twill be the same to me;
          Work fellow, work; make haste, the ground prepare;
          To dig and delve should be the rabble’s care;
          Don’t think that I will ever lend a hand,
          Or give the slightest aid to till the land;
          I’ve told thee I’m a gentleman by birth,
          Designed for ease:  not doomed to turn the earth. 
          Howe’er I’ll now the diff’rent parts allot,
          And thus divide the produce of the plot:—­
          What shall above the heritage arise,
          I’ll leave to thee; ’twill very well suffice;
          But what is in the soil shall be my share;
          To this attend, see ev’ry thing is fair.

          Thisbeardless corn when ripe, with joy was reaped,
          And then the stubble by the roots was heaped,
          To satisfy the lordly devil’s claim,
          Who thought the seed and root were just the same,
          And that the ear and stalk were useless parts,
          Which nothing made if carried to the marts: 
          The labourer his produce housed with care;
          The other to the market brought his ware,
          Where ridicule and laughter he received;
          ’Twas nothing worth, which much his bosom grieved.

          Quitemortified, the devil quickly went;
          To seek our clod, and mark his discontent: 
          The fellow had discreetly sold the corn,
          In straw, unthrashed, and off the money borne,
          Which he, with ev’ry wily care, concealed;
          The imp was duped, and nothing was revealed. 
          Said he, thou rascal?—­pretty tricks thou’st played;
          It seems that cheating is thy daily trade;
          But I’m a noble devil of the court,
          Who tricking never knew, save by report. 
          What grain dost mean to sow th’ ensuing year? 
          The labourer replied, I think it clear,
          Instead of grain, ’twill better be to chop,
          And take a carrot, or a turnip crop;
          You then, my lord, will surely plenty find;
          And radishes, if you are so inclined.

          Thesecarrots, radishes, and turnips too,
          Said t’other, I am led to think will do;
          My part shall be what ’bove the soil is found: 
          Thine, fellow, what remains within the ground;
          No war with thee I’ll have, unless constrained,
          And thou hast never yet of me complained. 
          I now shall go and try to tempt a nun,
          For I’m disposed to have a little fun.