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182
THE WEAVERS.
Whether clear or entangled the Threads of Life run,
By the Fates,—rare old Weavers!—those Threads were all spun;
The Work is then past into Dame Nature's Loom,
And woven to suit both the Cradle and Tomb.
By the Fates,—rare old Weavers!—those Threads were all spun;
The Work is then past into Dame Nature's Loom,
And woven to suit both the Cradle and Tomb.
Hence Destiny's Doublet for Mortals is made
By these same rare old Weavers, the first of our Trade;
And whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
By these same rare old Weavers, the first of our Trade;
And whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
'Tis true that the Jerkins, though done in one frame,
Are plaguy uneven, and seldom the same;
'Tis here a rich tissue from ankle to throat,
And there patch'd and piec'd like a Harlequin's coat:
Are plaguy uneven, and seldom the same;
'Tis here a rich tissue from ankle to throat,
And there patch'd and piec'd like a Harlequin's coat:
Here thinner than cobweb, there standing in gold;
Here tears in a day, and there never looks old:
With some it wears smoothly, with others more rough;
These find it of silk, and those feel it is stuff.
Here tears in a day, and there never looks old:
With some it wears smoothly, with others more rough;
These find it of silk, and those feel it is stuff.
One swears 'tis too coarse, and another too fine;
But troth, Brother Weaver, 't is vain to repine:
For, whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
But troth, Brother Weaver, 't is vain to repine:
For, whether entangled or clear the Threads run,
We must dress in the Jacket their Worships have spun.
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