The Inventive Dragon

In a very lonely tower, So the legend goes to tell, Pines a Princess in the power Of a dreadful Dragon’s spell.

There she sits in silent state, Always watching--always dumb, While the Dragon at the gate Eats her suitors as they come--

King and Prince of every nation, Poet, Page, and Troubadour, Of whatever rank or station-- Eats them up and waits for more.

Every Knight that hears the legend Thinks he’ll see what he can do, Gives his sword a lovely edge, and-- Like the rest is eaten too!

All of which is very pretty, And romantic, too, forsooth; But, somehow, it seems a pity That they shouldn’t know the truth.

If they only knew that really There is no Princess to gain-- That she’s an invention merely Of the crafty Dragon’s brain.

Once it chanced he’d missed his dinner For perhaps a day or two; Felt that he was getting thinner, Wondered what he’d better do.

Then it was that he bethought him How in this romantic age (Reading fairy tales had taught him) Rescuing ladies was the rage.

So a lonely tower he rented, For a trifling sum per year, And this thrilling tale invented, Which was carried far and near;

Far and near throughout the nations, And the Dragon ever since, Has relied for daily rations, On some jolly Knight or Prince.

And while his romantic fiction To a chivalrous age appeals, It’s a very safe prediction: He will never want for meals.

THE LION’S TOUR A FABLE

His Majesty the King of Beasts, Tired of fuss and formal feasts, Once resolved that he would go On a tour incognito. But a suitable disguise Was not easy to devise; Kingly natures do not care Other people’s things to wear.

The very thought filled him with shame. “No, I will simply change my name,” Said he, “and go just as I am, And call myself a Woolly Lamb.”

And so he did, and as you’ll guess, He had a measure of success. Disguised in name alone, he yet Took in ’most every one he met.

The first was Mister Wolf, who said, “Your Majesty--” “Off with his head!” The angry monarch roared. “I am, I’d have you know, a Woolly Lamb.”

Then Mistress Lamb, who, being near, Had heard, addressed him: “Brother dear--” “Odds cats!” the lion roared. “My word! Such insolence I never heard!”

His rage was a terrific sight (It almost spoiled his appetite). And so it went, until one day He met Sir Fox, who stopped to say (Keeping just far enough away, Yet in a casual, off-hand way, As if he didn’t care a fig), “Good-morning to you, Thingumjig.” To-day we think it infra dig, To use such words as Thing um jig; But what is now a vulgar word In those days never had been heard. Sir Fox himself invented it This great emergency to fit.

The King of Beasts, quite unprepared For this reception, simply stared. Of course he was not going to show There was a word he did not know. He bowed, and with his haughtiest air Resumed his walk; but everywhere He went his subjects, small and big, Took up the cry of Thingumjig.

It followed him where’er he went; He didn’t dare his rage to vent. Suppose it were a compliment? His anger then would only show Here was a word he did not know! The only course for him, ’twas clear, Was to pretend he did not hear.

And this he did until, at length, Long fasting so impaired his strength He gave his tour up in despair, ’Mid great rejoicing everywhere.