The stars are rolling in the sky,
The earth rolls on below,
And we can feel the rattling wheel
Revolving as we go.
Then tread away, my gallant boys,
And make the axle fly;
Why should not wheels go round about,
Like planets in the sky?
Wake up, wake up, my duck-legged man,
And stir your solid pegs
Arouse, arouse, my gawky friend,
And shake your spider legs;
What though youâre awkward at the trade,
Thereâs time enough to learn, -âÂ
So lean upon the rail, my lad,
And take another turn.
Theyâve built us up a noble wall,
To keep the vulgar out;
Weâve nothing in the world to do
But just to walk about;
So faster, now, you middle men,
And try to beat the ends,âÂ
Itâs pleasant work to ramble round
Among oneâs honest friends.
Here, tread upon the long manâs toes,
He shaânât be lazy here, -âÂ
And punch the little fellowâs ribs,
And tweak that lubberâs ear, -âÂ
Heâs lost them both,âÂdonât pull his hair,
Because he wears a scratch,
But poke him in the further eye,
That is nât in the patch.
Hark! fellows, thereâs the supper-bell,
And so our work is done;
Itâs pretty sport, - suppose we take
A round or two for fun!
If ever they should turn me out,
When I have better grown,
Now hang me, but I mean to have
A treadmill of my own!