Went sweating underneath a sack of corn,
Ask’d yet once more what meant the hubbub here?
Who answer’d gruffly, “Ugh! the sparrow-hawk,” 265
Then riding farther past an armourer’s,
Who, with back turn’d, and bow’d above his work,
Sat riveting a helmet on his knee,
He put the self-same query; but the man
Not turning round, nor looking at him, said: 270
“Friend, he that labours for the sparrow-hawk
Has little time for idle questioners.”