Classic Poem

WHO HAD BORROWED A SHEARING HAY SPADE FROM THE
AUTHOR, BUT STILL DELAYED TO RETURN THE SAME .

C ALENS , I send you rhyme, send me reason,
Why you keep up my spade so long a season?
What say you for yourself, man? Fy for shame,
Should not a lend come always laughing hame.
I sent my boy, I did so little doubt it,
And yet the silly goose came back without it.
Sir, to our skaith it's kend, a shorter time
Might with great ease shorn both your hay and mine.
What was it, Calens, that made you so cross,
Was you then preses at the noble house;
When you with old Nathaniel and Halmire,
Were keeping committees at Sandy's fire?
It sets you well to labour in your station
To raise up soldiers for a reformation;
We ken the school that ye were trained in,
An arch malignant, so are all your kin.
Now send me back my spade, or I'm a knave,
If that same spade help not to dig your grave.