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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE BLACKSMITHS, by                    
First Line: "swarte-smekyd smethes, smatyred wyth smoke"
Last Line: May no man for bren-wateres on night han his rest
Variant Title(s): Smoke-blackened Smiths
Subject(s): Blacksmiths


SWARTE smekyd smethes smatyred wyth smoke
Dryve me to deth wyth den of here dyntes.
Such noys on nyghtes ne herd men never:
What navene cry and clateryng of knockes!
The cammede kongons cryen after 'col, col!'
And blowen here bellewes, that al here brayn breasts:
'Huf, puf!' saith that on; 'haf, paf!' that other.
Thei spitten and spraulyn and spellyn many spelles;
Thei graven and gnacchen, thei groanys togydyr,
And holden hem hote wyth here hard hamers.
Of a bole-hyde ben here barm-fellys;
Here shankes ben shakeled for the fere flunders;
Heavy hamerys thei han, that hard ben handled,
Stark strokes thei stryken on a stelyd stokke:
Lus, bus! las, das! rowtyn be rowe.
Swech doleful a dreme the devyl it todryve!
The mayster longith a litel, and lascheth a lesse,
Twineth hem tweyn, and toucheth a treble:
Tik tak! hic hac! tiket taket! tyk, tak!
Lus bus, las das! such lyfe they ledyn
Alle clothemerys: Cryst hem gyve sorwe!
May no man for brenwaterys on night han hys rest!





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