Pictured is not the ballad but the balladeer, prancing into town, poking a fat man's paunch (""This ram was fat behind sir,/ This ram was fat before""), fondling another's buxom wife. . . and then run out of town in a sequence of events that reflects the succession of verses (though they can't match his pace). All rather ribald in Rick Schreiter's varnished Hogarth manner which you either find artful or artificial.