And busy matrons their saloop prepare,
The butcher’s loaded wain from town return,
And quarter-masters loaves and mutton share.
Oft do their hardy hands the hatchet wield,
And vig’rous knees the stubborn faggot break;
How steadily they tread the rugged field,
How quick a column, or a square they make!
Let not lac’d loungers mock their thankless toil,
Their homely meals and toilets thrifty plan;
Nor ’broider’d gen’rals hear with scornful smile