FERISHTAH'S FANCIES.
63
With patience, nay, approval: when the jaws
Met i' the small o' the arm, 'Ha, Ladykin,
Still at thy frolics, girl of gold?' laughed he:
'Eat flesh? Rye-grass content thee rather with,
Whereof accept a bundle!' Now,—what change!
Laughter by no means! Now ’tis 'Fiend, thy frisk
Was fit to find thee provender, didst judge?
Behold this red-hot twy-prong, thus I stick
To hiss i' the soft of thee!'"
"Behold? behold
A crazy noddle, rather! Sure the brute
Might well nigh have plain speech coaxed out of tongue,
And grow as voluble as Ruksh himself
At such mad outrage. 'Could I take thy mind,
Guess thy desire? If biting was offence
Met i' the small o' the arm, 'Ha, Ladykin,
Still at thy frolics, girl of gold?' laughed he:
'Eat flesh? Rye-grass content thee rather with,
Whereof accept a bundle!' Now,—what change!
Laughter by no means! Now ’tis 'Fiend, thy frisk
Was fit to find thee provender, didst judge?
Behold this red-hot twy-prong, thus I stick
To hiss i' the soft of thee!'"
"Behold? behold
A crazy noddle, rather! Sure the brute
Might well nigh have plain speech coaxed out of tongue,
And grow as voluble as Ruksh himself
At such mad outrage. 'Could I take thy mind,
Guess thy desire? If biting was offence
