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