And she spoke truly. But soon Frank's silver voice was heard calling out-- “Room there, good people, for the gallant 'prentice lads!” And on they came, headed by a giant of buckram and pasteboard armor, forth of whose stomach looked, like a clock-face in a steeple, a human visage, to be greeted, as was the fashion then, by a volley of quips and puns from high and low. Young Mr. William Cary, of Clovelly, who was the wit of those parts, opened the fire by asking him whether he were Goliath, Gogmagog, or Grantorto in the romance; for giants' names always began with a G. To which the giant's stomach answered pretty surlily-- “Mine don't; I begin with an O.” “Then thou criest out before thou art hurt, O cowardly giant!” “Let me out, lads,” quoth the irascible visage, struggling in his buckram prison, “and I soon show him whether I be a coward.” “Nay, if thou gettest out of thyself, thou wouldst be beside thyself, and so wert but a mad giant.” “And that were pity,” said Lady Bath; “for by the romances, giants have never overmuch wit to spare.” “Mercy, dear lady!” said Frank, “and let the giant begin with an O.” “A ----” “A false start, giant! you were to begin with an O.” “I'll make you end with an O, Mr. William Cary!” roared the testy tower of buckram. “And so I do, for I end with 'Fico!'” “Be mollified, sweet giant,” said Frank, “and spare the rash youth of yon foolish knight. Shall elephants catch flies, or Hurlo-Thrumbo stain his club with brains of Dagonet the jester? Be mollified; leave thy caverned grumblings, like Etna when its windy wrath is past, and discourse eloquence from thy central omphalos, like Pythoness ventriloquizing.” “If you do begin laughing at me too, Mr. Leigh ----” said the giant's clock-face, in a piteous tone. “I laugh not. Art thou not Ordulf the earl, and I thy humblest squire? Speak up, my lord; your cousin, my Lady Bath, commands you.” And at last the giant began:-- “A giant I, Earl Ordulf men me call,-- 'Gainst Paynim foes Devonia's champion tall; In single fight six thousand Turks I slew; Pull'd off a lion's head, and ate it too: With one shrewd blow, to let St. Edward in, I smote the gates of Exeter in twain; Till aged grown, by angels warn'd in dream, I built an abbey fair by Tavy stream. But treacherous time hath tripped my glories up, The stanch old hound must yield to stancher pup; Here's one so tall as I, and twice so bold, Where I took only cuffs, takes good red gold. From pole to pole resound his wondrous works, Who slew more Spaniards than I e'er slew Turks; I strode across the Tavy stream: but he Strode round the world and back; and here 'a be!” “Oh, bathos!” said Lady Bath, while the 'prentices shouted applause. “Is this hedge-bantling to be fathered on you, Mr. Frank?”