“Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!
When I am gone, perhaps
They’ll send you some inferior Sprite,
Who’ll keep you in a constant fright
And spoil your soundest naps.
“Tell him you’ll stand no sort of trick;
Then, if he leers and chuckles,
You just be handy with a stick
(Mind that it’s pretty hard and thick)
And rap him on the knuckles!
“Then carelessly remark ‘Old coon!
Perhaps you’re not aware
That, if you don’t behave, you’ll soon
Be chuckling to another tune—
And so you’d best take care!’
“That’s the right way to cure a Sprite
Of such like goings-on—
But gracious me! It’s getting light!
Good-night, old Turnip-top, good-night!”
A nod, and he was gone.
CANTO VII
Sad Souvenaunce
“What’s this?” I pondered. “Have I slept?
Or can I have been drinking?”
But soon a gentler feeling crept
Upon me, and I sat and wept
An hour or so, like winking.
“No need for Bones to hurry so!”
I sobbed. “In fact, I doubt
If it was worth his while to go—
And who is Tibbs, I’d like to know,
To make such work about?
“If Tibbs is anything like me,
It’s possible,” I said,
“He won’t be over-pleased to be
Dropped in upon at half-past three,
After he’s snug in bed.