He said "I am infernal weary,
I would that bill were paid."
About six fathoms from the wall,
A blackened chimney (much askew)
Smoked in his face—and round and small
The chimney-pots destroy his view,
Hard by—a popular highway,
With coal-dust turned to pitchy dark,
Where many a little dog doth bark,
Some black, some mottled, many grey.