9 o THE FIRESIDE SPHINX 



Gave hym his mortall wounde, 

 Chaunged to a dere, 

 The story doth appere, 

 Was chaunged to an harte : 

 So thou, foule cat that thou arte, 

 The selfe same hounde 

 Myght thee confounde, 

 That his owne lord bote, 

 Myght byte asondre thy throte ! 



Of Inde the gredy grypes 

 Myght tere out all thy trypes ! 

 Of Arcady the beares 

 Myght plucke awaye thyne eares ! 

 The wylde wolfe Lycaon 

 Byte asondre thy backe bone ! 

 Of Ethna the brennynge hyll, 

 That day and nyghte brenneth styl, 

 Set in thy tayle a blase, 

 That all the world may gase 

 And wonder upon thee ! 

 From Ocyan the greate sea 

 Unto the Isles of Orchady ; 

 From Tyllbery ferry 

 To the playne of Salysbery ! 

 So trayterously my byrde to kyll, 

 That never ought thee evyll wyll ! &quot; 



Before this tremendous anathema maranatka, all 

 ordinary cursing, the mere &quot;current compliments 

 of theological parting,&quot; soften into insignificance. 

 Was there ever such a wanton waste of wrath ! 

 Was ever a trivial sin so exalted by punishment ! 

 Not only is poor Gyb doomed to ignite his tail at 



Etna, and 



&quot;like another Helen,&quot; 



