"Begone, red Devil!" I made reply.

"Parch shall these lips of mine, And my tongue shall shrink, and my throat go dry, Ere ever I taste your wine!

But greet you shall, as I know full well, A tipsy score of my friends in h.e.l.l.

And I name no names, but the whole world wots Most of my fellows are drunken sots."

"Ah, ha!" said the Devil. "You scorn the wine!

Thrice shall you sin, I say, To win me a crown from a friend of mine, Ere three o' the clock this day.

Are you calling to mind some lady fair?

And is she a wife or a maiden rare?

'Twere folly to shackle young love, hot Youth; And stolen kisses are sweet, forsooth!"

"Begone, foul Devil!" I made reply; "For never in all my life Have I looked on a woman with l.u.s.tful eye, Be she maid, or widow, or wife.

But my brothers! Alas! I am scandalized By their evil pa.s.sions so ill disguised.

And I name no names, but my thanks I give That I loathe the lives my fellow-men live."

"Ho, ho!" roared the Devil in fiendish glee.

"'Tis a silver crown I win!

Thrice have you fallen! 0 Pharisee, You have sinned your darling sin!"

"But, nay," said I; "and I scorn your lure.

I have sinned no sin, and my heart is pure.

Come, show me a sign of the sin you see!"

But the Devil was gone ... and the clock struck three.

With an increase of cheering and waving of hats- While the little boys squealed, and made noises like cats-- The Glugs gave approval to Sym's second rhyme.

And some said 'twas thoughtful, and some said 'twas prime; And some said 'twas witty, and had a fine end: More especially those who did not comprehend.

And some said with leers and with nudges and shrugs That, they mentioned no names, but it hit certain Glugs.

And others remarked, with superior smiles, While dividing the metrical feet into miles, That the thing seemed quite simple, without any doubt, But the anagrams in it would need thinking out.

But the Mayor said, Hush! And he wished to explain That in leading this Movement he'd nothing to gain.

He was ready to lead, since they trusted him so; And, wherever he led he was sure Glugs would go.

And he thanked them again, and craved peace for a time, While this gifted young man read his third and last rhyme.

THE LAST RHYME OF SYM

(To sing you a song and a sensible song is a worthy and excellent thing; But how could I sing you that sort of a song, if there's never a song to sing?) At ten to the tick, by the kitchen clock, I marked him blundering by, With his eyes astare, and his rumpled hair, and his hat c.o.c.ked over his eye.

Blind, in his pride, to his shoes untied, he went with a swift jig-jog, Off on the quest, with a strange unrest, hunting the Feasible Dog.

And this is the song, as he dashed along, that he sang with a swaggering swing-- (Now how had I heard him singing a song if he hadn't a song to sing?)

"I've found the authentic, identical beast!

The Feasible Dog, and the terror of Gosh!

I know by the prowl of him.

Hark to the growl of him!

Heralding death to the subjects of Splosh.

Oh, look at him glaring and staring, by thunder!

Now each for himself, and the weakest goes under!

"Beware this injurious, furious brute; He's ready to rend you with tooth and with claw.

Tho' 'tis incredible, Anything edible Disappears suddenly into his maw: Into his cavernous inner interior Vanishes evrything strictly superior."

He calls it "Woman," he calls it "Wine," he calls it "Devils" and "Dice"; He calls it "Surfing" and "Sunday Golf' and names that are not so nice.

But whatever he calls it-"Morals" or "Mirth"-he is on with the hunt right quick For his sorrow he'd hug like a gloomy Gllig if he hadn't a dog to kick.

So any old night, if the stars are right, vou will find him, hot on the trail Of a feasible dog and a teasable dog, with a can to tie to his tail.

And the song that he roars to the shuddering stars is a worthy and excellent thing.

(Yet how could you hear him singing a song if there wasn't a song to sing?)

"I've watched his abdominous, ominous shape Abroad in the land while the nation has slept, Marked his satanical Methods tyrannical; Rigorous, vigorous vigil I kept.

Good gracious! Voracious is hardly the name for it!

Yet we have only our blindness to blame for it.

"My dear, I've autoptical, optical proof That he's prowling and growling at large in the land.

Hear his pestiferous Clamour vociferous, Gurgles and groans of the beastliest brand.

Some may regard his contortions as comical.

But I've the proof that his game's gastronomical.

"Beware this obstreperous, leprous beast-- A treacherous wretch, for I know him of old.

I'm on the track of him, Close at the back of him, And I'm aware his ambitions are bold; For he's yearning and burning to snare the superior Into his roomy and gloomy interior."

Such a shouting and yelling of hearty Bravoes, Such a craning of necks and a standing on toes Seemed to leave ne'er a doubt that the Tinker's last rhyme Had now won him repute 'mid the Glugs for all time.

And they all said the rhyme was the grandest they'd heard: More especially those who had not caught a word.

But the Mayor said: Peace! And he stood, without fear, As the leader of all to whom Justice was dear.

For the Tinker had rhymed, as the Prophet foretold, And a light was let in on the errors of old.

For in every line, and in every verse Was the proof that Sir Stodge was a traitor, and worse!

Sir Stodge (said the Mayor), must go from his place; And the Sw.a.n.ks, one and all, were a standing disgrace!

For the influence won o'er a weak, foolish king Was a menace to Gosh, and a scandalous thing!

"And now," said the Mayor, "I stand here to-day As your leader and friend." And the Glugs said, "Hooray!"

Then they went to their homes in the suburbs and town; To their farms went the Glugs who were bearded and brown.

Portly Glugs with cigars went to dine at their clubs, While illiterate Glugs had one more at the pubs.

And each household in Gosh sat and talked half the night Of the wonderful day, and the imminent fight.

Forgetting the rhymer, forgetting his rhymes, They talked of Sir Stodge and his numerous crimes.

There was hardly a C3lug in the whole land of Gosh Who'd a lenient word to put in for King Splosh.

One and all, to the mangiest, surliest dog, Were quite eager to bark for his Worship of Quog.

Forgotten, unnoticed, Sym wended his way To his lodging in Gosh at the close of the day.

And 'twas there, to his friend and companion of years-- To his little red dog with the funny p.r.i.c.k ears-- That he poured out his woe; seeking nothing to hide; And the little dog listened, his head on one side.

"O you little red dog, you are weary as I.

It is days, it is months since we saw the blue sky.

And it seems weary years since we sniffed at the breeze As it hms thro' the hedges and sings in the trees.