As busy hand and eager eye,
Mid shuttle’s flight and iron’s ring,
Their still-renewing taskwork ply.
Dismounting from his bridled mule,
Afoot Sir Self pursued his way,
Where cries of mingled mirth and dule
Marked sottish rout or maddened fray;
Where on each lintel sat and croned
Old beldams, and the sluttish brood
Of girl-folk gossiped, laughed, and droned,