But while yet slumber his lids did cumber
He blew another blast;
And the giant rush’d out and blink’d about,
Till Jack he spied at last.
What whipster is that scarce as tall as a cat?
He’ll do to broil or bake:
But he’s too small for me withal
This long night’s fast to break.
Tis Jack, I swear! ah Jack, mon cher,
This is a merry bout!