Jack presently his coat put on,
that screened him from their sight,
Saying I'll do the best I can

to plague them all this night;

His pipes he straight began to play,
the crowders they did dance;
The tradesmen too, as fast as they,
did caper, skip, and prance.

Still he play'd up a merry strain
on bis pipes loud and shrill,
So they danced and jumped again,
tho' sore against their will.

Said they this is enchanted ground,
for though no soul we see,
Yet still the music's pleasant sound,
makes us dance veh'mently.

Jack Horner danc'd and piping went

straight down into the hollow,

So all these dancers by consent, they after him did follow.

He led them on thro' bogs and sloughs,

nay, likewise ponds and ditches,

And in the thorny briary boughs,

poor rogues, they tore their breeches!

At last it being somewhat late,
Jack did his piping leave,

So ceas'd, seeing their wretched state
which made them sigh and grieve.

Sure this game is old Nick, I know, the author of this evil:

And others cry'd, if it be so,

he is a merry devil.

Jack Horner laugh'd and went away,

and left them in despair:

So ever since that very day,

no crowders would come there.

VI.

Jack's kindness to the innkeeper, who he puts in a way to pay his debts.

An honest man, an innkeeper,

a friend to honest Jack, Who was in debt alas! so far

that he was like to crack;

Now this man had a handsome wife,

sweet, fair, and beauteous too,—

A Quaker lov'd her as his life,
and this Jack Horner knew.

The Quaker was an esquire born,
and did in wealth abound:
Said he, I'll catch him in the corn,
and put him in the pond.

First to the innkeeper I'll go,

and when I do him find,

He soon shall understand and know
that I'll be true and kind.

He met him in a narrow lane,
and said, my friend, good morrow;
But the innkeeper reply'd again,
my heart is full of sorrow ;

Two hundred pounds I am in debt,
which I must pay next week;
It makes me sigh, lament, and fret,
having the coin to seek.

Quoth Jack, if you'll be rul'd by me,
I'll put you in a way

How you yourself from debts may free

and all the money pay.

Nay, this is joyful news, he cry'd,

thou art a friend indeed,

Thy wit shall be my rule and guide for never more was need.

Go tell thy loving wife, said he, thy joy and heart's delight, That thou must ride miles forty-three and shan't come home to night.

Then mind the counsel I shall give, and be no whit afraid;

For I can tell you as I live

your debts will soon be paid.

Mount thy bay nag, and take thy cloak, likewise thy morning gown;

And lodge within a hollow oak a mile or two from town.

Then you may sleep in sweet content all night and take your rest, And leave it to my management, then Sir, a pleasant jest—

Next morning there you shall behold
the like ne'er seen before;
Which shall produce a sum of gold,

nay, likewise silver store.

Unto his house straightway he went,

and told her he must go

A journey, saying be content, for why, it must be so.

She seemingly began to weep, and with sad signs reply'd― You know, alas! I cannot sleep without you by my side.

Cries he, kind wife, do not repine, why should you sigh and grieve? I go out to a friend of mine some money to receive.

This said, with woman fond deceit, she straightway ceased to mourn, And gave him twenty kisses sweet, wishing his safe return.

So soon as he was out of sight, she for the Quaker sent, And ordered him to come at night, that to their heart's content

They may be merry, sport, and play,
as her husband was from home.
The Quaker said, by yea and nay,
I will not fail to come.

Now just about the close of day

they did to supper fall;

Now Jack was there as well as they, and walk'd about the hall,

And did her fond behaviour note,

she on her friend did lean,

Jack having his enchanting coat

was not for to be seen.

Who perfectly did hear and see

when they did toy and play; Thought he, I'll be reveng'd on ye, before the morning day.

* * * *

VII.

Jack slays a monstrous giant, and marries a knight's daughter.

Jack Horner a fierce giant kill'd,

one Galligantus stout,

As large as ever man beheld

in all the world throughout.

This very giant could with ease,
step fifteen yards in length:
Up by the root he pluck'd oak trees,
so mighty was his strength.

His lips did open like two gates,
his beard hung down like wire,
His eyes were like two pewter plates,
he breathed smoke and fire.

'Tis said that he destroy'd as much
as ten score men could eat;
So that the people did him grudge
every bit of meat.

His mess was still continually
two bullocks in a dish;

Then he would drink whole rivers dry,
and thus he starv'd the fish:

He went to drink it seems one day

by a deep river side,

Whereat a lighter full of straw
did then at anchor ride;

Besides another full of hay;

a third with block and billet;
He crammed all these into his maw,

and yet they did not fill it.