This ploughman dead in battle slept out of doors many a frozen night, and
merrily;
Answered staid drinkers, good bedman and all bores:
'At Mrs.
Greenlands hawthorn bush.' said he,
'I slept.' None new which bush above the
town,
beyond 'the drover' a hundred spot the down
in Wiltshire, and
where now at last he sleeps
more sound in France - that, too, he secret keeps.