He called an architect in counsel; 'I want,' said he, 'a--you know what, (You are a builder, I am Knott) A thing complete from chimney-pot Down to the very grounsel; Here's a half-acre of good land; Just have it nicely mapped and planned 20 And make your workmen drive on; Meadow there is, and upland too, And I should like a water-view, D'you think you could contrive one? (Perhaps the pump and trough would do, If painted a judicious blue?) The woodland I've attended to;' [He meant three pines stuck up askew, Two dead ones and a live one.] 'A pocket-full of rocks 'twould take 30 To build a house of freestone, But then it is not hard to make What nowadays is _the_ stone; The cunning painter in a trice Your house's outside petrifies, And people think it very gneiss Without inquiring deeper; _My_ money never shall be thrown Away on such a deal of stone, When stone of deal is cheaper.' 40 And so the greenest of antiques Was reared for Knott to dwell in: The architect worked hard for weeks In venting all his private peaks Upon the roof, whose crop of leaks Had satisfied Fluellen; Whatever anybody had Out of the common, good or bad, Knott had it all worked well in; A donjon-keep, where clothes might dry, 50 A porter's lodge that was a sty, A campanile slim and high, Too small to hang a bell in; All up and down and here and there, With Lord-knows-whats of round and square Stuck on at random everywhere,-- It was a house to make one stare, All corners and all gables; Like dogs let loose upon a bear, Ten emulous styles _staboyed_ with care, 60 The whole among them seemed to tear, And all the oddities to spare Were set upon the stables.