How should our worthy landlord know The note wherewith he paid his score Was that the post-boy had let go The night before?
Guileless he jogs to London town,' Seeks out the Bank, and straight thereat Upon the counter puts it down, With " Cash for that."
But Mr. Race, the cute cashier (Commercial men were ever so), When he had got the note, said, " Here! Exactly so.
"This note was stolen the other night, As, doubtless, very well you know; Nor cash, nor note, since you 've no right, From here will go."
"Why," said the jolly Miller, "why, I 've always heretofore been told Notes pass by mere delivery, Just as does gold
"Or silver coin. If you refuse To pay the note that 's fairly mine, We 'll take a judge and jury's views, Sir Superfine!"
'T was in good faith, the jury said, The note was ta'en. No more he knew Of Sheppard, or of Beau Brocade, Than I or you.
And judgment did Lord Mansfield give, "Bank-notes pass by delivery;" So home the Miller went to live By £. s. d. Lays of a Limb of the Law.
