Popular Rhymes and Nursery Tales Part 37

_Enter_ SLASHER.

_Slasher._ I am a valiant soldier, and Slasher is my name, With sword and buckler by my side I hope to win the game; And for to fight with me I see thou art not able, So with my trusty broad-sword I soon will thee disable!

_St. George._ Disable! disable! it lies not in thy power, For with my glittering sword and spear I soon will thee devour.

Stand off, Slasher! let no more be said, For if I draw my sword, I'm sure to break thy head!

_Slasher._ How can'st thou break my head?

Since it is made of iron, And my body's made of steel; My hands and feet of knuckle-bone: I challenge thee to field.

[_They fight, and_ Slasher _is wounded. Exit_ St. George.

_Enter_ FOOL.

_Fool._ Alas! alas! my chiefest son is slain!

What must I do to raise him up again?

Here he lies in the presence of you all, I'll lovingly for a doctor call!

(_Aloud._) A doctor! a doctor! ten pounds for a doctor!

I'll go and fetch a doctor. [_Going._

_Enter_ DOCTOR.

_Doctor._ Here am I.

_Fool._ Are you the doctor?

_Doctor._ Yes, that you may plainly see, By my art and activity.

_Fool._ Well, what's your fee to cure this man?

_Doctor._ Ten pounds is my fee; but Jack, if thou be an honest man, I'll only take five of thee.

_Fool._ You'll be wondrous cunning if you get any (_aside_).

Well how far have you travelled in doctrineship?

_Doctor._ From Italy, t.i.taly, High Germany, France, and Spain, And now am returned to cure the diseases in old England again.

_Fool._ So far, and no further?

_Doctor._ O yes! a great deal further.

_Fool._ How far?

_Doctor._ From the fireside cupboard, upstairs and into bed.

_Fool._ What diseases can you cure?

_Doctor._ All sorts.

_Fool._ What's all sorts?

_Doctor._ The itch, the pitch, the palsy, and the gout.

If a man gets nineteen devils in his skull, I'll cast twenty of them out.

I have in my pockets crutches for lame ducks, spectacles for blind humble-bees, pack-saddles and panniers for gra.s.shoppers, and plaisters for broken-backed mice. I cured Sir Harry of a hang-nail, almost fifty-five yards long; surely I can cure this poor man.

Here, Jack, take a little out of my bottle, And let it run down thy throttle; If thou be not quite slain, Rise, Jack, and fight again. [Slasher _rises_.

_Slasher._ Oh, my back!

_Fool._ What's amiss with thy back?

_Slasher._ My back it is wounded, And my heart is confounded, To be struck out of seven senses into four score; The like was never seen in Old England before.

_Enter_ ST. GEORGE.

Oh, hark! St. George, I hear the silver trumpet sound, That summons us from off this b.l.o.o.d.y ground; Down yonder is the way (_pointing_).

Farewell, St. George, we can no longer stay.

[_Exeunt_ Slasher, Doctor, _and_ Fool.

_St. George._ I am St. George, that n.o.ble champion bold, And with my trusty sword I won ten thousand pounds in gold; 'Twas I that fought the fiery dragon, and brought him to the slaughter, And by those means I won the King of Egypt's daughter.

_Enter_ PRINCE OF PARADINE.

_Prince._ I am Black Prince of Paradine, born of high renown; Soon I will fetch St. George's lofty courage down.

Before St. George shall be received by me, St. George shall die to all eternity!

_St. George._ Stand off, thou black Morocco dog, Or by my sword, thou'lt die; I'll pierce thy body full of holes, And make thy b.u.t.tons fly.

_Prince._ Draw out thy sword and slay, Pull out thy purse and pay; For I will have a recompense Before I go away.

_St. George._ Now, Prince of Paradine, where have you been?

And what fine sights, pray, have you seen?

Dost think that no man of thy age Dares such a black as thee engage?

Lay down thy sword; take up to me a spear, And then I'll fight thee without dread or fear.

[_They fight, and_ Prince of Paradine _is slain._

_St. George._ Now Prince of Paradine is dead, And all his joys entirely fled; Take him, and give him to the flies, And never more come near mine eyes.

_Enter_ KING OF EGYPT.

_King._ I am the King of Egypt, as plainly doth appear; I'm come to seek my son, my son, and only heir.

_St. George._ He is slain.

_King._ Who did him slay, who did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill?

_St. George._ I did him slay, I did him kill, And on the ground his precious blood did spill!

Please you, my liege, my honour to maintain, Had you been there, you might have fared the same.