The shoemaker sat on his bench of leather
Pegging away on a half-worn shoe;
Whatever the times or state of the weather,
He pegged away, the whole day through.
Sometimes he'd whistle, sometimes he'd sing;
He cut his patch to fit the hole,
And he always had some one on the "string,"
While hammering down another man's "sole."
Some said his leather was "tan-barked" and old;
Some said his calf was poorly "revealed,"
Others said the shoemaker was only "half-souled,"
Others said he was mighty well "heeled."
Each trade that he made brought him some "boot,"
No happier man could well be born;
Though even the farmer he failed to suit,
He always had a share in his "corn."
Though people at him would "bristle" and "wax,"
And "button-hook" him as he passed,
Still they finally paid the shoemaker's "tacks,"
For he got them down at the "last."
