[Pg 43]

“Ho! here it comes! Now, by my sword,

A famous feast ’twill be.

From her own recipee.”

 “Odslife!” cried Launce, “if there is aught I love ’tis this same thing.”  And he and all the knights did fall Upon that bag puddynge.

“Odslife!” cried Launce, “if there is aught

I love ’tis this same thing.”

Upon that bag puddynge.

  One taste, and every holy knight Sat speechless for a space, While disappointment and disgust Were writ in every face.

Sat speechless for a space,

Were writ in every face.

 “Odsbodikins!” Sir Tristram cried, “In all my days, by Jing! I ne’er did taste so flat a mess As this here bag puddynge.”

“Odsbodikins!” Sir Tristram cried,

“In all my days, by Jing!

As this here bag puddynge.”

 “Odswhiskers, Arthur!” cried Sir Launce, Whose license knew no bounds, “I would to Godde I had this stuff To poultice up my wounds.”

“Odswhiskers, Arthur!” cried Sir Launce,

Whose license knew no bounds,

“I would to Godde I had this stuff

To poultice up my wounds.”

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