The Smiths

Black-smocked smiths swathed in smoke
Drive me to death with the din of their dints.
Such noise on nights I've never heard!
What knave's cry and clattering of knocks,
The crazy carpers crying after "Coal! Coal!"
And blowing the bellows so that brains burst?
"Huff, puff," says that one, "Haff, paff" that other;
They talk and titter and tell many tales;
They gnaw and gnash; they groan together,
And whack till they're hot with hard hammers.
Of a bull's hide are their belts and britches;
Their shanks are shielded from searing sparks.
Heavy hammers they have, hard to handle;
Strong strokes they strike on a steel anvil;
"Loose, boose; lass, dass!" they strike in company,
Such doleful a drumming drives me to the devil.
The master makes a large by lashing a small,

Twists two pieces, then beats a treble.
"Tick, tack; hick, hack! ticket, tacket; tick tack!
Loose, boose; loose, dass!" Such a life they lead!
Horse dressers, Christ curse them,
No man may for these water-burners rest.

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