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“The palace,” said they, “of a mighty magician,
So harsh and severe he’s regarded with fear
By all the poor people who dwell about here;
The best course, if you asked us, that we’d recommend to you,
Is not to go near him—he may put an end to you.”
Said Puss, “Never fear, for I’ll persevere
Till the neighbourhood I of this wicked one clear.”
So he went on once more, till reaching the door
Of the castle, he gave with the knocker a score
Of such rat-tat-tat-tats, to the blush as would put man-
-Y thundering knocks by a real London footman.
The door was flung wide, and Puss stept inside,
But not an attendant there was to be spied—
Nought but a hand
Bearing a wand,
That pointed the way with a courtesy bland,
By corridors gorgeous, up staircases grand,
Through halls by arched ceilings, all painted, o’erspanned,
Along galleries brilliant with lovely stained windows,
Whose curtains were made
Of that Indian brocade
Which Great Britain, ’t is said, to the conquest of Scinde owes;
Though the wizard of course got his curtains by witchcraft,
Not by merchant-ships, P. and O. steamers, or sich craft.
At length doth Puss enter
A hall in whose centre
The Ogre he spies, cui Cyclopius venter.
(Which, translated, would mean “as a matter of taste,
His figure and form ran a good deal to waist.”
He has taken his seat,
Preparing to eat
An enormous repast of all manner of meat—
Beef, mutton, and veal, each in separate bowl—
And the different beasts are served up to him whole;
And there’s one dish, moreover,
That Puss can discover,
That strikes him with horror and harrows his soul—
Babes of quite slender years (that means tender, not thin, age) Piled up on a dish (and no gammon), and spinach.*
Puss, nothing daunted
(Although ’t will be granted
The sight in some hearts might have terror implanted),
Walked straight to the board
Where the monster abhorred
At the servants attending him bellowed and roared;
And servants sure ne’er on their master attended
With such an unwilling respect as those men did!
“Rascals of mine!
Bring me some wine,
Or I ’ll cut you in sunder from head-piece to chine!”
And if any should know how to spell it, ’t would be he.
Alarmed at the speaker,
One brought a big beaker
Of wine—one-tenth part had floored any one weaker.
But the Ogre held up the great glass to his eye
In a critical way,
Smacked his lips, just to say
“That ’ll do!” and then all at one gulp drained it dry,
And set down the goblet. [I cannot see why
It is called so, and count as a regular puzzle it;
For since it’s to drink,
Not to eat from, you’d think
They’d, instead of a “gobble-it,” call it a “guzzle-it.”]
Notes
* In thus making spinach
‘To rhyme as with Greenwich
I ‘m authorised wholly
By Anthony Rowley,
Whose edito princeps (of course it’s a foli-
-O) spells the word s.p.i.n.n.a.g.e—