The wearer knowes, where the shoe wrings.
[The wearer knows best where the shoe pinches.]

The wearer knowes, where the shoe wrings.
[The wearer knows best where the shoe pinches.]

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.

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.

The fairy stitching gleams
On the sides and in the seams,
And it shows
read more

The fairy stitching gleams
On the sides and in the seams,
And it shows
That Pixies were the wags
Who tipped these funny tags
And these toes.

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.

The shoemaker makes a good shoe because he makes nothing else.

The shoemaker makes a good shoe because he makes nothing else.

But from the hoop's bewitching round,
He very shoe has power to wound.

But from the hoop's bewitching round,
He very shoe has power to wound.

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.

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.