What the thrush toils at

The partridge asks for

The hapless one takes

The troubled one steals

Puts upon a spade

Sets on a runner

Hides under a door

Shields with a bath-whisk



The farmer hammers

And tempers his spears

Marries off his sons

Hands out his daughters

In boots clogged with clay

In fancy mittens



The sea-swell rumbles

And the wind it blows

And the king hears it

>From five miles away

>From six directions

>From seven back woods

>From eight heaths away