Swart, reeking smiths, besmirched with smoke,
Are the death of me with the din of their blows.
Such night-time racket none ever heard of.
What shouting of servants, and clatter of blows!
The bent-over runts call out, "coal! coal!"
And blow their bellows to burst their brains.
"Huff! puff!" says that one, "Haff! paff!" that other.
They spit and throw themselves about and say many things.
They gnaw, they gnash their teeth, they groan together
And heat themselves up with their hard hammers.
Their apron-skins are a bull's hide.
Their legs are armored against the fire-sparks.
They have heavy, hard-to-wield hammers.
They strike heavy strokes on a steely anvil.
Luss, buss! luss, dass! they crash, all in a row.
The devil take it, so awful a noise!
The master lengthens one small piece, and smashes a smaller,
Fuses the two of them, and lays on a third time.
Tick, tack! hick, hack! ticket, tacket! tick, tack!
Luss, buss! luss, dass! They lead such a life,
Christ give them grief, all horse-dressers!
None has a night's rest because of these water-burners!