Chapter III

"Illustrious Arthur, King of Trumps,
My duty bids me stir my stumps;
Fell Giants yet, your country's pest,
Your faithful liegemen much molest;
'T is my intention, if you will,
Their uncouth _highnesses_ to kill.

{036}

I crave some loose cash and a cob,
And trust me, sire, I 'll do the job,
As sure as fate, for every snob."

"Why," said the King, "your plan's romantic
And yet't is true those rogues gigantic
Have wrought my subjects much annoy:--
Well; go and prosper, Jack, my boy;
I hope and trust you 'll put them down;
So here's a horse, and--half-a-crown.