"Jack Frigidos,
Jack Frigidos,
Oh, what a trope you are!
How you do shine
And ghibeline,
And conjugate afar!"
"It begins very well, oh, minstrel!" said Jack, with an approving nod. "The ink was well expended. Mount thee yon table, and from thence deliver thyself of the remnant of thy rhyme."
"Thanks," returned the voice; "I will."
"Get up on the table, Jimmieboy," the voice added, "and we'll finish 'em off there. Be a little slow about it, for I've got to have time to compose the rest of the poem."
So Jimmieboy clambered up the leg of the table, and in a few moments was ready for the voice to begin, which the voice proceeded to do.
"I will repeat the first verse, your Majesty, for the sake of completeness. And here goes:
"Jack Frigidos,
Jack Frigidos,
Oh, what a trope you are!
How you do shine,
And ghibeline,
And conjugate afar!
"How debonair
Is thy back hair;
Thy smile how contraband!
Would I could ape
Thy shapely shape,
And arrogate thy hand!
"That nose of thine,
How superfine!
How pertinent thy chin.
How manifest
The palimpsest
And contour of thy shin!
"How ormolu
Thy revenue!
How dusk thy silhouette!
How myrtilly
Thy pedigree
Doth grace thine amulet!
"What man is there,
Ay, anywhere,
What mortal chanticleer,
Can fail to find
Unto his mind
Thy buxom bandolier!
"Ah, Frigidos!
Jack Frigidos,
In parcel or in keg,
Another like
Thee none can strike
From Dan to Winnipeg."
Here the voice paused.
"Is that all?" queried Jack Frost.