Hoots for the Tinker tore the air,
As Sym went, wisely, otherwhere.
Cheers for Sir Stodge were long and loud;
And, as amid his Swanks he bowed,
To mark his thanks and honest pride,
His Nibs of Quog bowed by his side.
The Thursday after that, at three,
The King invited Quog to tea.
Quoth Quog, “It was a task to bilk . . .
(I thank you; sugar, please, and milk) . . .
To bilk this Tinker and his pranks.
A scurvy rogue! . . . (Ah, two lumps, thanks.)
“A scurvy rogue!” continued Quog.
’Twas easy to outwit the dog.
Altho’, perhaps, I risked my life—
I’ve heard he’s handy with a knife.
Ah, well, ’twas for my country’s sake . . .
(Thanks; just one slice of currant cake.)”
It chanced one day, in the middle of May,
There came to the great King Splosh
A policeman, who said, while scratching his head,
“There isn’t a stone in Gosh
To throw at a dog; for the crafty Og,
Last Saturday week, at one,
Took our last blue-metal, in order to settle
A bill for a toy pop-gun.”
Said the King, jokingly,
“Why, how provokingly
Weird; but we have the gun.”
And the King said, “Well, we are stony-broke.”
But the Queen could not see it was much of a joke.
And she said, “If the metal is all used up,
Pray what of the costume I want for the Cup?
It all seems so dreadfully simple to me.
The stones? Why, import them from over the sea.”
But a Glug stood up with a mole on his chin,
And said, with a most diabolical grin,
“Your Majesties, down in the country of Podge,
A spy has discovered a very ’cute dodge.
And the Ogs are determined to wage a war
On Gosh, next Friday, at half-past four.”
Then the Glugs all cried, in a terrible fright,
“How did our grandfathers manage a fight?”
Then the Knight, Sir Stodge, he opened his Book,
And he read, “Some very large stones they took,
And flung at the foe, with exceeding force;
Which was very effective, tho’ rude, of course.”
And lo, with sorrowful wails and moans,
The Glugs cried, “Where, Oh, where are the stones?”
And some rushed North, and a few ran West;
Seeking the substitutes seeming best.
And they gathered the pillows and cushions and rugs
From the homes of the rich and middle-class Glugs.
And a hasty message they managed to send
Craving the loan of some bricks from a friend.
On the Friday, exactly at half-past four,
Came the Ogs with triumphant glee.
And the first of their stones hit poor Mister Ghones,
The captain of industry.
Then a pebble of Podge took the Knight, Sir Stodge,
In the curve of his convex vest.
He gurgled “Un-Gluggish!” His heart growing sluggish,
He solemnly sank to rest.
Yet, he was sent to rest.