Did you see the goat-dealer
All in his jacket green?
I met him on the rocky road
‘ Twixt this and Baile-doirin.
A hundred nannies ran before,
And a she-ass behind,
And then the old wanderer himself,
Burnt red with sun and wind.
He gave me the time-a-day
And doitered over the hill,
Walloping his gay ashplant
And shouting his fill.
I think I hear him yet,
Tho’ it's a giant's cry
From where I hailed him first,
Standing up to the sky.
Is that Puck Green I see beyond?
It is, and the stir is there.
By the holy hat, I know then —
He's making for Puck Fair!