Between her swaggering pannier's load   A Farmer's Wife to market rode,
  And jogging on, with thoughtful care,
  Summed up the profits of her ware;
  When, starting from her silver dream,
  Thus far and wide was heard her scream:
  "That Raven on yon left-hand oak
  (Curse on his ill-betiding croak)
  Bodes me no good." No more she said,
  When poor blind Ball, with stumbling head,
  Fell prone; o'erturned the panniers lay,
  And her mashed eggs bestrewed the way.
  She, sprawling on the yellow road,
  Railed, cur............