II.

              Sound beneath a forest oak
              Was a beardless warrior dozing,
              By a babbling rill, that woke
              Echo—not the youth reposing.
              What a chance for lady loves
              Now to win a "pair of gloves!"

     III.

     "Wake, champion, wake, be off, be off;
     Heard'st thou not that earthquake cough!
     That floundering splash,
     That thundering crash?
     Awake!—oh, no,
                It is no go!"
        So sang a little woodland fairy;
                'T was O'Blunderbore coming
        And the blackguard was humming
        The tune of "Paddy Carey."

     IV.

     Beholding the sleeper,
     He open'd each peeper
     To about the size of the crown of your hat;
     "Oh, oh!" says he,
                  "Is it clear I see
     Hallo! ye young spalpeen, come out o' that."

                 So he took him up
                 As ye mote a pup,
     Or an impudent varlet about to "pop" him:
     "Wake up, ye young baste;
                 What's this round your waist?
     Och! murder! "—I wonder he did n't drop him.

     He might, to be sure, have exclaimed "Oh, Law!"
     But then he preferred his own patois;
     And "Murder!" though coarse, was expressive, no doubt,
     Inasmuch as the murder was certainly out.

     He had pounced upon Jack,
               In his cosy bivouack,
     And so he made off with him over his back.

     V.

             Still was Jack in slumber sunk;
             Was he Mesmerised or drunk?

      I know not in sooth, but he did not awake
      Till, borne through a coppice of briar and brake,
      He was roused by the brambles that tore his skin,
      Then he woke up and found what a mess he was in
      He spoke not a word that his fear might shew,
      But said to himself—"What a precious go!"

     VI.

              Whither was the hero bound,
              Napping by the Ogre caught?
              Unto Cambrian Taffy's