In the weaver’s croft shall grow!
“‘Oh, the poor, lame weaver,
How he will laugh outright,
When he sees his dwindling flax-field
All full of flowers by night!’
“And then upspoke a brownie,
With a long beard on his chin—
‘I have spun up all the tow,’ said he,
‘And I want some more to spin.
“‘I’ve spun a piece of hempen cloth,