But one knows very well, it is we that they quiz--
Now they dance in the market, they leap and they play,
And take from the hinds their own dance-place away.
Then turn the men-servants, and cudgel them out,
Till like mice they are running the streets all about;
They gather to battle in furious throngs,
And smite, lunge, and cry with right deafening lungs.
Then they're off through the fields with their play to undo them,
'Tis just as if thunder should tear its way through them,
They tread down the corn-field, they don't understand,