The next we met was a farmer
With pitchfork in his hand.
He said, 'This is private property
Now git orf moi land!'

The next we met was a copper
He said 'I do protest,
You've been 'untin' of bold Reynard,
I've a warrant for your arrest.

The next we met was a hunt sab
Scared us out of our wits
He said he'd saved poor Reynard
From being torn to bits!