“A feäre,” the boots then cried;
“I’m there,” the man replied.
“The glassen pleäce, your quickest peäce,”
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.
The steps went down wi’ rottlèn slap,
The zwingèn door went open wide:
Wide? no; vor when the worthy chap
Stepp’d up to teäke his pleäce inside,
Breast-foremost, he wer twice too wide
Vor thik there door. An’ then he tried
To edge in woone an’ tother zide.
“ ’Twont do,” the drever cried;
“Can’t goo,” good Bloom replied;
“That you should bring theäse vooty thing!”
Cried worthy Bloom the miller.
“Come,” cried the drever. “Pay your feäre
You’ll teäke up all my time, good man.”
“Well,” answer’d Bloom, “to meäke that square,
You teäke up me, then, if you can.”
“I come at call,” the man did nod.
“What then?” cried Bloom, “I han’t a-rod,
An’ can’t in thik there hodmadod.”
“Girt lump,” the drever cried;
“Small stump,” good Bloom replied;
“A little mite, to meäke so light,
O’ jolly Bloom the miller.”
“You’d best be off now perty quick,”
Cried Bloom, “an’ vind a lighter lwoad,
Or else I’ll vetch my voot, an’ kick
The vooty thing athirt the road.”
“Who is the man?” they cried, “meäke room,”
