O, quoth the dragon, pox take thee, come out, 105 Thou disturb'st me in my drink: And then he turn'd, and s... at him; Good lack how he did stink! Beshrew thy soul, thy body's foul, Thy dung smells not like balsam; 110 Thou son of a whore, thou stink'st so sore, Sure thy diet is unwholesome.
Our politick knight, on the other side, Crept out upon the brink, And gave the dragon such a douse, 115 He knew not what to think: By cock, quoth he, say you so: do you see? And then at him he let fly
With hand and with foot, and so they went to't; And the word it was, Hey boys, hey! 120
Your words, quoth the dragon, I don't understand: Then to it they fell at all, Like two wild boars so fierce, if I may, Compare great things with small. Two days and a night, with this dragon did fight 125 Our champion on the ground; Tho' their strength it was great, their skill it was neat, They never had one wound.
At length the hard earth began to quake, The dragon gave him a knock, 130 Which made him to reel, and straitway he thought, To lift him as high as a rock, And thence let him fall. But More of More-Hall, Like a valiant son of Mars, As he came like a lout, so he turn'd him about, 135 And hit him a kick on the a...
Oh, quoth the dragon, with a deep sigh, And turn'd six times together, Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing Out of his throat of leather; 140 More of More-Hall! O thou rascàl! Would I had seen thee never; With the thing at thy foot, thou hast prick'd my a...gut, And I'm quite undone for ever.
Murder, murder, the dragon cry'd, 145 Alack, alack, for grief; Had you but mist that place, you could Have done me no mischief.
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked, And down he laid and cry'd; 150 First on one knee, then on back tumbled he, So groan'd, kickt, s..., and dy'd.
[431] Collection of Historical Ballads in 3 vol. 1727.
[433] Ver. 29. were to him gorse and birches. _Other Copies._
[434] [Wharncliffe is about six miles from Rotherham.]
As the former song is in ridicule of the extravagant incidents in old ballads and metrical romances; so this is a burlesque of their style; particularly of the rambling transitions and wild accumulations of unconnected parts, so frequent in many of them.