Deprived you of the tips you drew,
While you were waiting on your p-
eople drawing corks and serving tea.
Indeed he’d say, by him your pop
ularity is now tip-top.
He therefore claims a pardon free.
The seer hath spoken.
WHINES FROM LOW SPIRITS.
“Fiddle-dee-dee!” cried the king; “to such defence I cannot listen. It may be with rhyme, but is certainly without reason. If it comes to anything it comes to this, that he kept me waiting so long in order that I might get tips, eh? That is seeking to give the king the sack. I would be mad ere I accepted such a mumm sham penitence. I declare it brand’ed as a shabbily-concocted whine; so turn from it, and laugh it to scorn. He shall have his mead. Summon the headsman, and let him whisk it off.”
The executioner at once appeared, set his block in front of the throne, felt the edge of his axe, advanced to the herald, and began to drag him forward.