Which to the weary maid aloof
The pot-boy made, did all confound
Her sense, but most she loathed the hour
When all the last up-trains were in
Without the lodgers, and the din
Of wheels began to lose its power.
Then said she, “This is very dreary,
They will not come,” she said,
She said, “I am aweary, aweary,
Why won’t they hire my bed?”