The frogs, astonished, thunderstruck, forgot their notes and music, that before had seemed so terrible, and drowned the cries of knight renown, and mute in wonder heard the words of Whittington, pronouncing solemn:—­“Goblins, chimeras dire, or frogs, or whatsoe’er enchantment thus presents in antique shape, attend and hear the words of peace; and thou, good herald, read aloud the Riot Act!”

He ceased, and dismal was the tone that softly breathed from all the frogs in chorus, who quick had petrified with fright, unless redoubted Gog and Magog, both with poles, high topped with airy bladders by a string dependent, had not stormed against his lordship.  Ever and anon the bladders, loud resounding on his chaps, proclaimed their fury against all potent law, coercive mayoralty; when he, submissive, thus in cunning guile addressed the knights assailant:—­“Gog, Magog, renowned and famous! what, my sons, shall you assail your father, friend, and chief confessed?  Shall you, thus armed with bladders vile, attack my title, eminence, and pomp sublime?  Subside, vile discord, and again return to your true ’legiance.  Think, my friends, how oft your gorgeous pouch I’ve crammed, all calapash, green fat, and calapee.  Remember how you’ve feasted, stood inert for ages, until size immense you’ve gained.  And think, how different is the service of Munchausen, where you o’er seas, cold, briny, float along the tide, eternal toiling like to slaves of Algiers and Tripoli.  And ev’n on high, balloon like, through the heavens have journeyed late, upon a rainbow or some awful bridge stretched eminent, as if on earth he had not work sufficient to distress your potent servitudes, but he should also seek in heaven dire cause of labour!  Recollect, my friends, even why or wherefore should you thus assail your lawful magistrate, or why desert his livery? or for what or wherefore serve this German Lord Munchausen, who for all your labour shall alone bestow some fudge and heroic blows in war?  Then cease, and thus in amity return to friendship aldermanic, bungy, brown, and sober.”

Ceased he then, right worshipful, when both the warring champions instant stemmed their battle, and in sign of peace and unity returning, ’neath their feet reclined their weapons.  Sudden at a signal either stamped his foot sinistrine, and the loud report of bursten bladder stunned each ear surrounding, like the roar of thunder from on high convulsing heaven and earth.

’Twas now upon the saddle once again the knight of Mancha rose, and in his hand far balancing his lance, full tilt against the troops of bulls opposing run.  And thou, shrill Crillitrilkril, than whom no cricket e’er on hob of rural cottage, or chimney black, more gladsome turned his merry note, e’en thou didst perish, shrieking gave the ghost in empty air, the sport of every wind; for e’en that heart so jocund and so gay was pierced, harsh spitted by the lance of Mancha, while undaunted thou didst sit between the horns that crowned Mowmowsky.  And now Whittington advanced, ’midst armour antique and the powers Magog and Gog, and with his rod enchanting touched the head of every frog, long mute and thunderstruck, at which, in universal chorus and salute, they sung blithe jocund, and amain advanced rebellious ’gainst my troop.