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Thread-balls[1] at my feet are rolling!—
[Kicking at them.
Off with you! You block my path! The Thread-balls.
[On the ground.]
We are thoughts; Thou shouldst have thought us;— Feet to run on Thou shouldst have given us! Peer.
[Going round about.]
I have given life to <g>one</g>;— 'Twas a bungled, crook-legged thing! The Thread-balls. We should have soared up Like clangorous voices,—- And here we must trundle As grey-yarn thread-balls. Peer.
[Stumbling.]
Thread-clue! you accursed scamp! Would you trip your father's heels? [Flees.
Withered Leaves.
[Flying before the wind.]
We are a watchword;
Thou shouldst have proclaimed us!
See how thy dozing
Has wofully riddled us.
The worm has gnawed us
- ↑ See Introduction.
