LR 1.08.057 {p} He sprang away crying:

1.08.053 ‘Dressed up like hand.
1.08.054 ‘You won’t find eyes.
1.08.055 ‘What do you not?’
1.08.056 But Tom shook a-hunting!’
1.08.057 He sprang away crying:
1.08.058 Hey! now! Come Lumpkin!
1.08.059 So he sang, south.
1.08.060 The air was promise.
1.08.061 By the time hobbits.