I tweaked him by the nose, and cried, "Defend thyself and draw!" Resenting my impetuous way, The old command, to teach, He roused him to impromptu fire, Of indignation speech, And with a sneer, that galled my quick, He swore me, I must die! But with a rough right royal oath, I sneered him back the lie! "Thy name?" quoth I, "I am," said he, "A man of Deeds, and Loans, And auction sales, I come from Wales, My name is Mervyn Jones!" "What? Mervyn Jones of Pontypridd?" "Exactly so, the same," Said he,--I heard of him before, And quivered at his name! For 'twas the name, thro' which the world Had come to hear of me, By pruning blade of Smith, on Jones; His genealogic tree, "Yes I am Jones!" Quoth he, "By loans, And mortgaged, for her life, Thro' debts to me, attorney's power, I hold upon thy wife, So skin thy blade, I'll give thee cause, To tweak my nose!" he saith, "I'll auction thee, unto the bid, Of good old broker death!"-- Hereditary fate it seemed, That I must fight with Jones, I would have shirked it, but for those, His irritating tones, I feared a compensating fate, Might strike an even deal, Betwixt the house of Smith, and Jones, But skinning forth my steel, I smote at him, by hip, and thigh, By carte, and aye by tierce, I held him to his guard, with quick, Aggressive strokes, and fierce, But lo! the cunning of my wrist, A moment lapsed! with art Of subtle fencer, past my guard, He pinked me, in the heart! It skivered me, just like the fork, That spoils a grilling steak, I shivered, with a yell, and then, A woman's cry,--and crake Of joy from him, with mighty pang, I leaped in air, and fell! A muffled music thrilled my brain; For me, the passing knell, From numbing toe, and finger tip, The graduating thrill Of life's collapse, crept over me, I wriggled, and lay still! Then, from the chrysolid of flesh, Light spirited I rose, And gazed upon my corse, as on A suit of cast off clothes, My widow shrieked, and fainted, but A golden vinagarette, My slayer lifted from his fob, And to her nose, he set The bauble, while he pinched her, slapped Her hands, and brought her to, Then speaking to my mortal wreck, Said he, "Now as for you, I have avenged the slur upon My nose, thy tweak hath wrought, Thou art the loser, in the game Of combat, that thou sought, But lo! thy widow, will not weep It long, for I may say, She'll shed her weeds, and she will wed With me, the first of May! Then, with my spouse upon his arm, He turned, and sneaked away,