Then crop-sick down the stairs he flings
Before his master’s bell yet rings,
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep
By hoofs and wheels soon lull’d to sleep.
But the city takes me then,
And the hums of busy men,
Where throngs of train-band captains bold
In time of peace fierce meetings hold,
With stores of stock-jobbers, whose lies
Work change of stocks and bankruptcies;