I’ll pay your score—and all before

Your mother knows you’re out.

So on he strode: but soon he trod

Aboon Jack’s handywork;

When in he fell, and roll’d pell-mell

Blaspheming like a Turk.

Then Jack peep’d in, and rubb’d his chin,

While thus he spake his foe:—

Now, as you’re good, by your father’s blood,

Dear giant, swear not so.