“You must ask an alms from house to house:
Sell the stag’s head for a bracket,
With its grand twelve tines—I’d buy it myself—
And use the skin for a jacket!”
He was wiser, made both head and hide
His win-penny: hands and knees on,
Would manage to crawl—poor crab—by the roads
In the misty stalking season.
And if he discovered a bothy like this,
Why, harvest was sure: folk listened.
He told his tale to the lovers of Sport:
Lips twitched, cheeks glowed, eyes glistened.
And when he had come to the close, and spread
His spoils for the gazers’ wonder,
With “Gentlemen, here’s the skull of the stag
I was over, thank God, not under!”—
The company broke out in applause;
“By Jingo, a lucky cripple!
Have a munch of grouse and a hunk of bread,
And a tug, besides, at our tipple!”
And “There’s my pay for your pluck!” cried This,
“And mine for your jolly story!”
Cried That, while T’other—but he was drunk—
Hiccupped “A trump, a Tory!”
I hope I gave twice as much as the rest;
For, as Homer would say, “within grate
Though teeth kept tongue,” my whole soul growled,
“Rightly rewarded,—Ingrate!”
