Northumbrian Guisards 207 



Reckless of dates and the invention of gunpowder, 

 he boldly proclaims : 



Here comes in Goliath, 

 Goliath is my name, 

 A sword and pistol by my side, 

 I hope to win the game. 



To be literal, he has a rusty side-arm which has 

 lost its flint and of which the hammer is broken, 

 while he clanks by his side a wooden sabre, across the 

 top of which for a hilt he has, with a tenpenny nail, 

 fastened a piece of wood. It would seem that Time 

 has worn away all the unessential portions of the 

 sharp colloquy that follows, for it is a model of brevity 

 and point : 



ST. GEORGE : The game, Sir, the game, Sir ! 



It's not within your power : 



I'll hack you into inches 



In less than half an hour. 

 GOLIATH (scornfully) : You, Sir ? 

 ST. GEORGE (confidently} : Yes, I, Sir. 

 GOLIATH : Pull out your sword and try, Sir. 



Then they fall to with a rattle of sticks, but the 

 fight is a mere pretence, for since the fathers have 

 been prohibited from cracking pates at fair or market 

 for half a crown or a new hat, there has been none 

 to teach youngsters the principles of fence. So the 

 Philistine drops without being smitten. Likely 

 enough one or other would appear to have had better 

 reasons for falling in the olden time, as the victorious 

 champion, in apparent forgetfulness of his assumed 

 character, wails forth : 



