THE KING OF THE CROCODILES. PART II. WICKED the word and bootless the boast, "A meal of me!" the Woman cried, Το revenge herself then she did not fail, He was slow in his motions for want of a tail; Two Crocodile Princes, as they play'd on the sand, She caught, and grasping them one in each hand, Thrust the head of one into the throat of the other, And made each Prince Crocodile choke his brother And when she had truss'd three couple this way, And plying her oars with might and main, When the Crocodile Queen came home, she found Then many a not very pleasant thing The Queen had the better in this dispute, In woeful patience he let her rail, Standing less in fear of her tongue than her tail, And knowing that all the words which were spoken Could not mend one of the eggs that were broken. The Woman, meantime, was very well pleased "Mash-Allah!" her neighbours exclaim'd in delight: gave them a funeral supper that night, She Where they all agreed that revenge was sweet, THE ROSE. BETWENE the Cytee and the Chirche of Bethlehem, is the felde Floridus, that is to seyne, the felde florsched. For als moche as a fayre Mayden was blamed with wrong and sclaundred, that sche hadd don fornicacioun, for whiche cause sche was demed to the dethe, and to be brent in that place, to the whiche she was ladd. And as the fyre began to brenne about hire, she made her preyeres to oure Lord, that als wissely as sche was not gylty of that synne, that he wold help hire, and make it to be knowen to alle men of his mercyfulle grace; and whanne sche had thus seyd, sche entered into the fuyer, and anon was the fuyer quenched and oute, and the brondes that weren brennynge becomen white Roseres, fulle of roses, and theise werein the first Roseres and roses, both white and rede, that every ony man saughe. And thus was this Maiden saved by the grace of God. The Voiage and Traivaile of Sir John Maundeville. And feels the noontide sun, and drinks refresh'd The dews of night; let not thy gentle hand The sense of being !... Why that infidel smile? Come, I will bribe thee to be merciful; And thou shalt have a tale of other days, For I am skill'd in legendary lore, So thou wilt let it live. There was a time Ere this, the freshest, sweetest flower that blooms, Bedeck'd the bowers of earth. Thou hast not heard How first by miracle its fragrant leaves There dwelt in Bethlehem a Jewish maid, One man there was, a vain and wretched man, Gave it new charms, and made him gloat the more. |