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Curs'd be that wretch (Death's factor sure) who brought
Dire swords into the peaceful world, and taught
Smiths (who before could only make
The spade, the plough-share, and the rake)
Arts, in most cruel wise
Man's left to epitomize!
- Abraham Cowley,
in commendation of the time we live under, the reign of Charles II
Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 'tis at a white heat now:
The billow ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound;
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare;
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
- Sir Samuel Ferguson,
The Forging of the Anchor (st. 1)
The Smith and his penny both are black.
- George Herbert, Jacula Prudentum
And the smith his iron measures hammered to the anvil's chime;
Thanking God, whose boundless wisdom makes the flowers of poesy bloom
In the forge's dust and cinders, in the tissues of the loom.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Nuremberg
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands:
The smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow,
The Village Blacksmith
As great Pythagoras of yore,
Standing beside the blacksmith's door,
And hearing the hammers, as they smote
The anvils with a different note,
Stole from the varying tones, that hung
Vibrant on every iron tongue,
The secret of the sounding wire,
And formed the seven-chorded lyre.
- Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, To a Child
And he sang: "Hurra for my handiwork!"
And the red sparks lit the air;
Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made;
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
- Charles Mackay, Tubal Cain (st. 4)
In other part stood one who, at the forge
Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass
- John Milton, Paradise Lost
(bk. XI, l. 564)
I saw a smith stand with his hammer, thus,
The whilst his iron did on the anvil cool,
With open mouth swallowing a tailor's news;
Who, with his shears and measure in his hand,
Standing on slippers, which his nimble haste
Had falsely thrust upon contrary feet,
Told of a many thousand warlike French,
That were embattailed and ranked in Kent.
- William Shakespeare,
The Life and Death of King John
(Hubert at IV, ii)
The paynefull smith, with force of fervent heat,
The hardest yron soone doth mollify,
That with his heavy sledge he can it beat,
And fashion it to what he it list apply.
- Edmund Spenser, Sonnet XXXII
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