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 ckay
In fancy mittens


The sea-swell rumbles
And the winds it blows

And the king hears it
From five miles away
From six directions

From seven back woods
From eight heaths away.