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XII.
Jack, the monsters having "licked,"
Had, of course, their pockets picked,
And their keys and eke their riches
Had abstracted from their breeches.
"Ladies," he said, with a Chesterfield's ease,
Permit me, I pray you, to present you with these,"
And he placed in their hands the coin and the keys:
"So long having swung,
By your poor tresses hung,
Sure your nerves are unhinged though yourselves are unstrung;
To make you amends,
Take these few odds and ends,
This nice little castle, I mean, and its wealth;
And I 've only to say,
That I hope that you may
For the future enjoy the most excellent health."
Said the ladies—"Oh, thank you!—expressions we lack "—
"Don't mention it pray," said the complaisant Jack.
XIII.
Jack knelt and kissed the snow-white hands
Of the lovely ladies three;
Oh! who these matters that understands
But thinks, "would that I'd been he! "
Then he bids them adieu; "Au revoir," they cry.
"Take care of yourselves," he exclaims, "good bye!"
XIV.
Away, like Bonaparte in chase,
O'er mount and moor goes Jack;
With his trusty sword before his face,
And its scabbard behind his back.
Away he goes,
And follows his nose;
No wonder, then, that at close of day,
He found himself out
In his whereabout;—
"Dash my buttons," he cried, "I have lost my way
Before him stretched a lonely vale—
Just the place for robbing the mail
Ere that conveyance went by "rail"—
On either side a mount of granite
Outfaced indignant star and planet;
Its thunder-braving head and shoulders,
And threatening crags, and monstrous boulders,
Ten times as high as the cliffs at Brighton,
Uprearing like a "bumptious" Titan,
Very imposing to beholders.
Now the red sun went darkly down,
More gloomy grew the mountains' frown,
And all around waxed deeper brown,—
Jack's visage deeper blue;
Said he, "I guess I'm in a fix,"—
Using a phrase of Mr. Slick's,—
"What on earth shall I do?"
He wandered about till late at night,
At last he made for a distant light;
"Here's a gentleman's mansion," thought Jack, "all right."
He knocked at the wicket,
Crying, "That's the ticket!"
When lo! the portal open flew,
And a monster came out,
Enormously stout
And of stature tremendous, with heads for two.
Jack was rather alarmed,
But the Giant was charmed,
He declared with both tongues, the young hero to see:
"What a double-tongued speech!
But you wo n't overreach
Me" thought Jack; as the Giant said—"Walk in, to tea."
But he saw that to fly
Would be quite "all his eye,"
He could n't, and so it was useless to try;
So he bowed, and complied with the monster's "walk in!"
With a sort of a kind of hysterical grin.
Now this Giant, you know, was a Welshman, and so,
'T was by stealth he indulged in each mischievous "lark
His name was Ap Morgan,
He had a large organ
Of "secretiveness," wherefore he killed in the dark.
"He was sorry that Jack was benighted," he said,
"Might he fenture to peg he'd accept of a ped?"
And he then led the way,
All smiling and gay,
To the couch where his guest might rest his head;
And he bade him good night, politely quite,
Jack answered—"I wish you a very good night."
XV.
Though his eyes were heavy, and legs did ache,
Jack was far too wide awake
To trust himself to the arms of sleep;—
I mean to say he was much too deep.
Stumping, through the midnight gloom,
Up and down in the neighbouring room,
Like a pavior's rammer, Ap Morgan goes.
"I shouldn't much like him to tread on my toes!"
Thought Jack as he listened with mind perplexed;—
"I wonder what he's up to next?"
XVI.
Short was our hero's marvelling;
For, deeming him in slumber locked,
The monstrous oaf began to sing:
Gracious, how the timbers rocked!
From double throat
He poured each note,
So his voice was a species of double bass,
Slightly hoarse,
Rather coarse,
And decidedly wanting a little in grace:
A circumstance which unluckily smashes
A comparison I was about to make
Between it and the great Lablache's,—
Just for an allusion's sake.
Thus warbled the gigantic host,
To the well-known air of "Giles Scroggins' Ghost:
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XVII.
"Ha! say you so,"
Thought Jack; "oh, oh! "
And, getting out of bed,
He found a log;—
"Whack that, old Gog!
He whispered, "in my stead."
XVIII.
In steals the Giant, crafty old fox!
His buskins he'd doffed, and he walked in his socks,
And he fetches the bed some tremendous knocks
With his great big mace,
I' th' identical place
Where Jack's wooden substitute quietly lay;
And, chuckling as he went away,
He said to himself, "How. Griffith Ap Jones
Will laugh when he hears that I've broken his bones!