Bread Puddynge

When good King Arthur ruled our land He was a goodly king, And his idea of what to eat Was a good bag puddynge.

The bag puddynge he had in mind Was thickly strewn with plums, With alternating lumps of fat As big as my two thumbs.

"My love," quoth he to Guinevere, "We have a joust to-day-- Sir Launce is here, Sir Tris, Sir Gal, And all the brave array.

"Put everything across to-night In guise of goodly fare, And cook us up a bag puddynge That will y-curl our hair."

"I'll curl your hair," said Guinevere, "As tight as tight can be; I'll cook you up a bag puddynge From my new recipee."

. . . . . . . . . .

"Pitch in and eat, my merry men!" That night the King did say; "But save a little room--a bag Puddynge is on the way.

"Ho! here it comes! Now, by my sword, A famous feast 'twill be. Queen Guinevere hath cooked it, Launce, From her own recipee."

"Odslife!" cried Launce, "if there is aught I love 'tis this same thing." And he and all the knights did fall Upon that bag puddynge.

One taste, and every holy knight Sat speechless for a space, While disappointment and disgust Were writ in every face.

"Odsbodikins!" Sir Tristram cried, "In all my days, by Jing! I ne'er did taste so flat a mess As this here bag puddynge."

"Odswhiskers, Arthur!" cried Sir Launce, Whose license knew no bounds, "I would to Godde I had this stuff To poultice up my wounds."

King Arthur spat his mouthful out, And sent for Guinevere. "What is this frightful mess?" he roared. "Is this a joke, my dear?"

"Oh, ain't it good?" asked Guinevere, Her face a rosy red. "I thought 'twould make an awful hit: I made it out of bread!"

. . . . . . . . . .

When good King Arthur ruled our land He was a goodly king, And only once in all his reign Was made a Bread Puddynge.