They were riding along a broad dusty track which bordered a stone Causey raised above the level of winter floods; impulsively she turned to him.
"Historical Romances: Under the Red Robe, Count Hannibal, A Gentleman of France"
Stanley J. Weyman
The Cellar Door By the old tavern door on the Causey there lay A hogshead of stingo just rolled from a dray, And there stood the blacksmith awaiting a drop As dry as the cinders that lay in his shop; And there stood the cobbler as dry as a bun, Almost crackt like a bucket when left in the sun.
"Poems Chiefly From Manuscript"
John Clare
She'd climb the Causey chimney pots and take the silver sixpence off the top if she thought you were wanting it.
"The Northern Iron 1907"
George A. Birmingham