I sing the deeds of famous Jack,
                The doughty Giant Killer hight;
            How he did various monsters "whack,"
                And so became a gallant knight.

             In Arthur's days of splendid fun
                (His Queen was Guenever the Pliant),—
             Ere Britain's sorrows had begun;
                When every cave contained its giant;

             When griffins fierce as bats were rife;
                 And till a knight had slain his dragon,
              At trifling risk of limbs and life,
                He did n't think he'd much to brag on;

     When wizards o'er the welkin flew;
     Ere science had devised balloon;
     And 'twas a common thing to view
     A fairy ballet by the moon;—

     Our hero played his valiant pranks;
     Earned loads of kudos, vulgô glory,
     A lady, "tin," and lots of thanks;—
         Relate, oh Muse! his wondrous story.

     A Giant was, I should premise,
     A hulking lout of monstrous size;
     He mostly stood—I know you 'll laugh—
     About as high as a giraffe.

     His waist was some three yards in girth:
     When he walked he shook the earth.
     His eyes were of the class called "goggle,"
     Fitter for the scowl than ogle.

     His mouth, decidedly carnivorous,
     Like a shark's,—the Saints deliver us!
     He yawned like a huge sarcophagus,
     For he was an Anthropophagus,

     And his tusks were huge and craggy;
     His hair, and his brows, and his beard, were shaggy.

     I ween on the whole he was aught but a Cupid,
     And exceedingly fierce, and remarkably stupid;

              His brain partaking strongly of lead,
              How well soe'er he was off for head;
              Having frequently one or two
              Crania more than I or you.

              He was bare of arm and leg,
              But buskins had, and a philabeg;
              Also a body-coat of mail
              That shone with steel or brazen scale,
              Like to the back of a crocodile's tail;

                        A crown he wore,
                        And a mace he bore
              That was knobbed and spiked with adamant;
                        It would smash the skull
                        Of the mountain bull,
              Or scatter the brains of the elephant.

         His voice than the tempest was louder and gruffer—
         Well; so much for the uncouth "buffer."

               Of a right noble race was Jack,
               For kith and kin he did not lack,
                    Whom tuneful bards have puffed;
               The Seven bold Champions ranked among
               That highly celebrated throng,
                    And Riquet with the Tuft.

          Jack of the Beanstalk, too, was one;
          And Beauty's Beast; and Valour's son,
              Sir Amadis de Gaul:
          But if I had a thousand tongues,
          A throat of brass, and iron lungs,
              I could not sing them all.

     His sire was a farmer hearty and free;
     He dwelt where the Land's End frowns on the sea,
     And the sea at the Land's End roars again,
     Tit for tat, land and main.

     He was a worthy wight, and so
     He brought up his son in the way he should go;
     He sought not—not he!—to make him a "muff;"
     He never taught him a parcel of stuff;

     He bothered him not with trees and plants,
     Nor told him to study the manners of ants.
     He himself had never been
     Bored with the Saturday Magazine;
     The world might be flat, or round, or square,
     He knew not, and he did not care;
     Nor wished that a boy of his should be
     A Cornish "Infant Prodigy."

     But he stored his mind with learning stable,
     The deeds of the Knights of the famed Round Table;
     Legends and stories, chants and lays,
     Of witches and warlocks, goblins and fays;
             How champions of might
             Defended the right,

     Freed the captive, and succoured the damsel distrest
              Till Jack would exclaim—
     "If I don't do the same,
     An' I live to become a man,—I'm blest!"

     Jack lightly recked of sport or play
              Wherein young gentlemen delight,
     But he would wrestle any day,
     Box, or at backsword fight.

     He was a lad of special "pluck,"
     And strength beyond his years,
          Or science, gave him aye the luck
          To drub his young compeers.

     His task assigned, like Giles or Hodge,
     The woolly flocks to tend,
          His wits to warlike fray or "dodge"
          Wool-gathering oft would wend.

     And then he'd wink his sparkling eye,
     And nod his head right knowingly,
         And sometimes "Won't I just!" would cry,
         Or "At him, Bill, again!"

          Now this behaviour did evince
          A longing for a foe to mince;
          An instinct fitter for a Prince
          Than for a shepherd swain.

     I.

          Where good Saint Michael's craggy mount
          Rose Venus-like from out the sea,
          A giant dwelt; a mighty- Count
          In his own view, forsooth, was he;
          And not unlike one, verily,

          (A foreign Count, like those we meet
          In Leicester Square, or Regent Street),
          I mean with respect to his style of hair,
          Mustachios, and beard, and ferocious air,—
          His figure was quite another affair.

         This odd-looking "bird"
         Was a Richard the Third,
         Four times taller and five as wide;
         Or a clumsy Punch,
         With his cudgel and hunch,
              Into a monster magnified!

     In quest of prey across the sea
     He'd wade, with ponderous club;
              For not the slightest "bones" made he
              Of "boning" people's "grub."
     There was screaming and crying "Oh dear!" and "Oh law
     When the terrified maids the monster saw;

                 As he stalked—tramp! tramp!
                 Stamp! stamp! stamp! stamp!
         Coming on like the statue in "Don Giovanni."
                 "Oh my!" they would cry,
                  "Here he comes; let us fly!
         Did you ever behold such a horrid old brawny? —
                 A—h!" and off they would run
                 Like "blazes," or "fun,"
         Followed, pell-mell, by man and master;
                 While the grisly old fellow
                 Would after them bellow,
         To make them scamper away the faster.

     II.

          When this mountain bugaboo
          Had filled his belly, what would he do?
          He'd shoulder his club with an ox or two,
          Stick pigs and sheep in his belt a few,—
     There were two or three in it, and two or three under
     (I hope ye have all the "organ of wonder");
     Then back again to his mountain cave
     He would stump o'er the dry land and stride through the wave.

     III.

                     What was to be done?
                     For this was no fun;
                 And it must be clear to every one,
          The new Tariff itself would assuredly not
          Have supplied much longer the monstrous pot
                 Of this beef-eating, bull-headed, "son-of-a-gun."

     IV.

     Upon a night as dark as pitch
     A light was dancing on the sea;—
     Marked it the track of the Water Witch?
     Could it a Jack-a-lantern be?
     A lantern it was, and borne by Jack;
     A spade and a pickaxe he had at his back;
     In his belt a good cow-horn;
     He was up to some game you may safely be sworn.
     Saint Michael's Mount he quickly gained,
     And there the livelong night remained.

                What he did
                The darkness hid;
     Nor needeth it that I should say:
     Nor would you have seen,
     If there you had been
     Looking on at the break of day.

     V.

     Morning dawned on the ocean blue;
     Shrieked the gull and the wild sea-mew;
     The donkey brayed, and the grey cock crew;
     Jack put to his mouth his good cow-horn,
     And a blast therewith did blow.

     The Giant heard the note of scorn,
     And woke and cried "Hallo!"
     He popped out his head with his night-cap on,
     To look who his friend might be,
     And eke his spectacles did don,
     That he mote the better see.

     "I'll broil thee for breakfast," he roared amain,
     "For breaking my repose."
     "Yaa!" valiant Jack returned again,
     With his fingers at his nose.

     VI.

     Forward the monster tramps apace,
     Like to an elephant running a race;
     Like a walking-stick he handles his mace.
     Away, too venturous wight, decamp!
     In two more strides your skull he smashes;—
     One! Gracious goodness! what a stamp!
     Two! Ha! the plain beneath him crashes:
     Down he goes, full fathoms three.

     "How feel ye now," cried Jack, "old chap?
     It is plain, I wot, to see
     You 're by no means up to trap."
     The Giant answered with such a roar,
     It was like the Atlantic at war with its shore;
     A thousand times worse than the hullaballoo
     Of carnivora, fed,
     Ere going to bed,
     At the Regent's Park, or the Surrey "Zoo."

     "So ho! Sir Giant," said Jack, with a bow,
     "Of breakfast art thou fain?
     For a tit-bit wilt thou broil me now,
     An' I let thee out again? "
     Gnashing his teeth, and rolling his eyes,
     The furious lubber strives to rise.

     "Don't you wish you may get it?" our hero cries

       And he drives the pickaxe into his skull:
       Giving him thus a belly-full,
                        If the expression is n't a bull.

     VII.

                    Old Cormoran dead,
                       Jack cut off his head,
       And hired a boat to transport it home.
                    On the "bumps" of the brute,
       At the Institute,
       A lecture was read by a Mr. Combe.

         Their Worships, the Justices of the Peace,
         Called the death of the monster a "happy release:"
         Sent for the champion who had drubbed him,
         And "Jack the Giant Killer" dubbed him;
         And they gave him a sword, and a baldric, whereon
         For all who could read them, these versicles shone:—

            'THIS IS YE VALYANT CORNISHE MAN
            WHO SLEWE YE GIANT CORMORAN"

     I.

     Now, as Jack was a lion, and hero of rhymes,
     His exploit very soon made a noise in the "Times;"
              All over the west
              He was fêted, caressed,
     And to dinners and soirees eternally pressed:
     Though't is true Giants did n't move much in society,
     And at "twigging" were slow,
     Yet they could n't but know
     Of a thing that was matter of such notoriety.

     Your Giants were famous for esprit de corps;
     And a huge one, whose name was O'Blunderbore,
     From the Emerald Isle, who had waded o'er,
     Revenge, "by the pow'rs!" on our hero swore.

     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 ground
              Where adventures fresh he sought.

     VII.

      They gained the Giant's castle hall,
          Which seemed a sort of Guy's museum;
      With skulls and bones 'twas crowded all—
          You would have blessed yourself to see 'em.

      The larder was stored with human hearts,
      Quarters, and limbs, and other parts,—
           A grisly sight to see;
      There Jack the cannibal monster led,

      "I lave you there, my lad," he said,
          "To larn anatomy!—

         I'm partial to this kind of mate,
         And hearts with salt and spice to ate
         Is just what plases me;
         I mane to night on yours to sup,
         Stay here until you 're aten up
         He spoke, and turned the key.

     "A pretty business this!" quoth Jack,
          When he was left alone;
     "Old Paddy Whack,
          I say! come back—
     I wonder where he's gone?"

      In ghastly moans and sounds of wail,
      The castle's cells replied;
      Jack, whose high spirits ne'er could quail,
      Whistled like blackbird in the vale,
      And, "Bravo, Weber!" cried.

      When, lo! a dismal voice, in verse,
      This pleasant warning did rehearse:—

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     IX.

      "Haste!" quoth the hero, "yes, but how?
      They come, the brutes!—I hear them now.'
      He flew to the window with mickle speed,
      There was the pretty pair indeed,
      Arm-in-arm in the court below,
      O'Blunderbore and his brother O.

      "Now then," thought Jack, "I plainly see
      I 'm booked for death or liberty;—
      Hallo! those cords are 'the jockeys for me.'

     X.

     Jack was nimble of finger and thumb—
     The cords in a moment have halters become

         Deft at noosing the speckled trout,
         So hath he caught each ill-favoured lout:
         He hath tethered the ropes to a rafter tight,
         And he tugs and he pulls with all his might,
         "Pully-oi! Pully-oi!" till each Yahoo
         In the face is black and blue;
     Till each Paddy Whack
     Is blue and black;
     "Now, I think you're done brown," said courageous Jack.
     Down the tight rope he slides,
     And his good sword hides
     In the hearts of the monsters up to the hilt;
     So he settled them each:
     O'Blunderbore's speech,
     Ere he gave up the ghost was, "Och, murder, I'm kilt!"

     XI.

         The dungeons are burst and the captives freed;
     Three princesses were among them found—
         Very beautiful indeed;
     Their lily white hands were behind them bound:
         They were dangling in the air,
     Strung up to a hook by their dear "back hair."

     Their stomachs too weak
     On bubble and squeak,
     From their slaughtered lords prepared, to dine
                (A delicate rarity);
     With horrid barbarity,
     The Giants had hung them up there to pine.

     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!

     XIX.

     The morning shone brightly, all nature was gay;
     And the Giant at breakfast was pegging away:
     On pantomime rolls all so fiercely fed he,
     And he ate hasty-pudding along with his tea.

     Oh, why starts the monster in terror and fright?
     Why gapes and why stares he when Jack meets his sight?
     Why mutters he wildly, o'ercome with dismay,
     "How long have ghosts taken to walking by day?"

     XX.

     "Pless us!" he cried, "it can't be;—no! "
     "'Tis I," said Jack, "old fellow, though."
     "How slept you?" asked the monster gruff.
     "Toi lol," he answered;—"well enough:

     About twelve, or one, I awoke with a rat,—
     At least, I fancied it was that,—
     Which fetched me with its tail a ' whop; '
     But I went off again as sound as a top."

     XXI.

     Jack's feet the Giant did n't scan,
     Because he was a Pagan man;
     And knew no more than a mining lad
     What kind of a foot Apollyon had;

     But he thought to himself, with a puzzled brow,
     "Well, you're a rum one, any how."
     Jack took a chair, and set to work,—
     Oh! but he ate like a famished Turk;

     In sooth it was astounding quite,
     How he put the pudding out of sight.
     Thought the Giant, "What an appetite!"
     He had buttoned his coat together
     O'er a capacious bag of leather,

     And all the pudding he could n't swallow
     He craftily slipped into its hollow.

     XXII.

     When breakfast was finished, he said, "Old brick,
     See here; I 'll show you a crafty trick;
     You dare not try it for your life:"
     And he ripped up the bag with a table-knife.

     Squash! tumbled the smoking mess on the floor,
     But Jack was no worse than he was before.

     "Odds splutter hur nails!" swore the monster Welch,
     And he gashed his belly with fearful squelch;
               Let the daylight in
               Through the hole in his skin,—
     The daylight in and the pudding out,
     With twenty gallons of blood about;
     And his soul with a terrific "Oh!"
     Indignant sought the shades below.