Page:The Bab Ballads.djvu/186

184 Now follows the dim horror of my tale, And I feel I'm growing gradually pale,
 * For, even at this day,
 * Though its sting has passed away,

When I venture to remember it, I quail!

The elder of the brothers gave a squeal, All-overish it made me for to feel;
 * "Oh, ," he says, says he,
 * "If a Prince indeed you be,

I've a mystery I'm going to reveal!

"Oh, listen, if you'd shun a horrid death, To what the gent who's speaking to you, saith:
 * No 'Oüaits' in truth are we,
 * As you fancy that we be,

For (ter-remble!) I am —this is !"