I had come down here , not to serve God as a craftsman should , but to show my people how great a craftsman I was . They cared not , and it served me right , one split straw for my craft or my greatness . What a murrain call had I , they said , to mell with old St Barnabas ' ? Ruinous the church had been since the Black Death , and ruinous she would remain ; and I could hang myself in my new scaffold-ropes ! Gentle and simple , high and low -- the Hayes , the Fowles , the Fenners , the Collinses -- they were all in a tale against me . Only Sir John Pelham up yonder at Brightling bade me heart-up and go on . Yet how could I ? Did I ask Master Collins for his timber-tug to haul beams ? The oxen had gone to Lewes after lime . Did he promise me a set of iron cramps or ties for the roof ? They never came to hand , or else they were spaulty or cracked . So with everything . Nothing said , but naught done except I stood by them , and then done amiss . I thought the countryside was fair bewitched . ' ` It was , sure-ly , ' said Puck , knees under chin . ` Did you never suspect ary one ? ' ` Not till Sebastian came for his guns , and John Collins played him the same dog 's tricks as he 'd played me with my ironwork . Week in , week out , two of three serpentines would be flawed in the casting , and only fit , they said , to be re-melted . Then John Collins would shake his head , and vow he could pass no cannon for the King 's service that were not perfect . Saints !
How XXXXX stormed !
Collins Collinses Fenners Fowles Lewes Puck Sebastian scaffold-ropes serpentines week