A Hardy Tragedy of Sorts

I’ve given all my barley for a single silk purse
My bonnet drenched wet, my face white and terse.

The inn is bolt-up and my horse is dead.
Take that look off your face or on you I’ll tread.

The barge is smashed up, the house did fall down.
I’m leaving you now to step into town.

Don’t dare follow me, I’m going right now.

A farm hand I’ll be and follow the plough.

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