Whirling with the whirling spindle.
Twist ye, twine ye! even so
Mingle human bliss and woe.

Ere our translator, or rather our free imitator, had arranged
these stanzas in his head, and while he was yet hammering out a
rhyme for DWINDLE, the task of the sibyl was accomplished, or her
wool was expended. She took the spindle, now charged with her
labours, and, undoing the thread gradually, measured it by casting
it over her elbow and bringing each loop round between her
forefinger and thumb. When she had measured it out, she muttered
to herself--'A hank, but not a haill ane--the full years o' three
score and ten, but thrice broken, and thrice to OOP (i.e. to
unite); he'll be a lucky lad an he win through wi't.'

Our hero was about to speak to the prophetess, when a voice,
hoarse as the waves with which it mingled, hallooed twice, and
with increasing impatience--'Meg, Meg Merrilies! Gipsy--hag--
tausend deyvils!'

'I am coming, I am coming, Captain,' answered Meg; and in a moment
or two the impatient commander whom she addressed made his
appearance from the broken part of the ruins.

He was apparently a seafaring man, rather under the middle size,
and with a countenance bronzed by a thousand conflicts with the
north-east wind. His frame was prodigiously muscular, strong, and
thick-set; so that it seemed as if a man of much greater height
would have been an inadequate match in any close personal
conflict. He was hard-favoured, and, which was worse, his face