“No nonsense—you’ll rue it—of joking beware,”
Growled the Troll, so dark and dreary.
“Besides, it is mirk,” laughed Dyrë.
But the Troll by degrees more friendly grew,
And said, when he over was ferried,
“In your trough I’ll leave a token, to shew
The measure of him you’ve wherried.
Look under the thwarts when darkness wanes,
And something you’ll find in return for your pains;
A trifle wherewith to make merry.”