h began, with a tongue smooth as oil,
desiring dhtly to yield up the spoil;
or else he would muster the heads of the ,
and once more, iry which was the man.
“by the gods of the as!” dhtly replies,
“before i surrender so glorious a prize,
i'll jure the ghost of the great rorie more,
and bumper his horn with him twenty times o'er.”
sir robert, a soldier, no speech would pretend,
but he ne'er turn'd his ba his foe, or his friend;
said, “toss down the whistle, the prize of the field,”
and, knee-deep i, he'd die ere he'd yield.
to the board of g
The Whistle—A Ballad(3/6)