Hans Grovendraad, an honest clown,
By cobbling in his native town,
Had earned a living ever.
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Hans Grovendraad, an honest clown,
By cobbling in his native town,
Had earned a living ever.
His work was strong and clean and fine,
And none who served at Crispin's shrine
Was at his trade more clever.

I can tell where my own shoe pinches me.

I can tell where my own shoe pinches me.

The title of Ultracrepidarian critics has been given to those
persons who find fault with small and insignificant details.

The title of Ultracrepidarian critics has been given to those
persons who find fault with small and insignificant details.

. . . And holding out his shoe, asked them whether it was not new and
well made. "Yet," read more

. . . And holding out his shoe, asked them whether it was not new and
well made. "Yet," added he, "none of you can tell where it
pinches me."

A careless shoe string, in whose tie
I see a wilde civility.

A careless shoe string, in whose tie
I see a wilde civility.

Oh, where did hunter win
So delicate a skin
For her feet?
You lucky read more

Oh, where did hunter win
So delicate a skin
For her feet?
You lucky little kid,
You perished, so you did,
For my sweet.

Let firm, well hammer'd soles protect thy feet
Through freezing snows, and rains, and soaking sleet;
Should read more

Let firm, well hammer'd soles protect thy feet
Through freezing snows, and rains, and soaking sleet;
Should the big last extend the shoe too wide,
Each stone will wrench the unwary step aside;
The sudden turn may stretch the swelling vein,
The cracking joint unhinge, or ankle sprain;
And when too short the modish shoes are worn,
You'll judge the seasons by your shooting corn.

I was not made of common calf,
Nor ever meant for country loon;
If with an axe read more

I was not made of common calf,
Nor ever meant for country loon;
If with an axe I seem cut out,
The workman was no cobbling clown;
A good jack boot with double sole he made,
To roam the woods, or through the rivers wade.

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall read more

Ye tuneful cobblers! still your notes prolong,
Compose at once a slipper and a song;
So shall the fair your handiwork peruse,
Your sonnets sure shall please--perhaps your shoes.