THE stars are rolling in the sky, The earth rolls on below, And we can feel the rattling wheel Revolving as we go. Then tread away, my gallant boys, And make the axle fly; Why should not wheels go round about, Like planets in the sky? Wake up, wake up, my duck-legged man, And stir your solid pegs! Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend, And shake your spider legs; What though you're awkward at the trade, There's time enough to learn, -- So lean upon the rail, my lad, And take another turn. They've built us up a noble wall, To keep the vulgar out; We've nothing in the world to do But just to walk about; So faster, now, you middle men, And try to beat the ends, -- It's pleasant work to ramble round Among one's honest friends. Here, tread upon the long man's toes, He sha'n't be lazy here, -- And punch the little fellow's ribs, And tweak that lubber's ear, -- He's lost them both, -- don't pull his hair, Because he wears a scratch, But poke him in the further eye, That isn't in the patch. Hark! fellows, there's the supper-bell, And so our work is done; It's pretty sport, -- suppose we take A round or two for fun! If ever they should turn me out, When I have better grown, Now hang me, but I mean to have A treadmill of my own! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...AN ODE TO THE FRAMERS OF THE FRAME BILL by GEORGE GORDON BYRON THE TUFT OF FLOWERS by ROBERT FROST SONNET: 24. THE STREET by JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL A CHILD TO HIS SICK GRANDFATHER by JOANNA BAILLIE THE BALLOON MAN by JEAN M. BATCHELOR THE CONSOLATION OF PHILOSOPHY: BOOK 3 by ANICIUS MANLIUS SEVERINUS BOETHIUS TO MISS ANNA MARIA TRAVERS. AN EPISTLE FROM SCOTLAND by CHARLOTTE BRERETON |