The Blacksmiths

Swart smeked smithes, smatered with smoke
Drive me to deeth with din of here dintes
Swich noise on nightes ne herd men never
What knavene cry and clatering of knockes

The cammede kongons cryen after "Cole, cole!"
Blowen here bellewes that al here brain brestes
"Huf, puf," saith that oon, "haf, paf," that other
They spitten and sprawlеn and spellen many spellеs
They gnawen and gnasshen, they grones togidere

The Blacksmiths, The Blacksmiths
The Blacksmiths, The Blacksmiths

Hevy hamres they han that hard been handled
Stark strokes they striken on a steeled stokke
"Lus, bus, las, das," routen by rowe
Swich doleful a dreem the devil it to drive
The maister longeth a litel and lassheth a lesse

The Blacksmiths, The Blacksmiths
The Blacksmiths, The Blacksmiths

May no man for bren-wateres on night han his rest