I sing of Jack who blows the horn
To sound the break of final dawn,
Who seeks a maiden in the thorn,
Up in a tower, all forlorn.
He felled the ettin Cormoran,
Who stumbled in a pit;
Full twenty feet the giant’s span,
But lacking in much wit.
Then Jack was lauded for his deed,
The gallant Boston-man,
Who bore a belt inscribed to read
That he’s killed Cormoran.
Now Jack was nodding by a font
When Blunderbore arrove,
Who saw Jack’s word-wrought belt a-flaunt
That with an axe he clove
His cousin’s thick and spacious skull;
Now Blunderbore had caught
The ettin-feller in a lull,
And snatched him from the spot.
Jack woke to find himself in thorn,
Held in an ettin’s grasp,
Towards a castle being borne;
The sights there made him gasp:
The grounds were strewn with skulls and bones,
Of men the giant ate,
And far away he heard strange moans,
When entered they the gate
Into a parlour red with gore:
Here livers, lungs and hearts
Were dainties for Lord Blunderbore,
Who practiced loathly arts.
The giant locked Jack in a room,
And left to fetch a friend;
Jack feared that it would be his tomb,
His journey at an end.
He heard a warning from below,
A shrill and shrieking cry:
That he from there should quickly go,
Or he would surely die.
But that just steeled brave Jack’s resolve
To pull another trick;
It was a puzzle he must solve,
As clever as Old Nick.
The ettin neared now with his friend;
Jack tied a double noose,
Which out the window he would send
To put to lethal use:
Around the giants’ necks they slipped,
Then o’er a beam, the rope;
Upon the hemp sly Jack a-gripped
To leave them with no hope.
Like flounders did the giants flail,
While down the rope Jack slid;
He drew his sword and did not fail
To of their entrails rid.
From Blunderbore Jack took nine keys:
One to a dungeon where
Three ladies made him urgent pleas,
For hung they by their hair.
They swived him well that night I’m told,
Upon the giant’s bed,
And split in four the store of gold,
Before come dawn Jack fled.
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