The Root of the Boot

The Root of the Boot

A troll sat alone on his seat of stone,
And munched and mumbled a bare old bone;
And long and long he had sat there lone
And seen no man nor mortal —
Ortal! Portal!
And long and long he had sat there lone
And seen no man nor mortal.

Up came Tom with his big boots on;
‘Hallo!’ says he, ‘pray what is yon?
It looks like the leg o’me nuncle John
As should be a-lyin’ in churchyard.
Searchyard, Birchyard! etc.

‘Young man,’ says the troll, ‘that bone I stole;
But what be bones, when mayhap the soul
In heaven on high hath an aureole
As big and as bright as a bonfire?
On fire, yon fire!’

Says Tom: ‘Oddsteeth! ’tis my belief,
If bonfire there be, ’tis underneath;
For old man John was as proper a thief
As ever more black on a Sunday —
Grundy, Monday!

But still I don’t see what is that to thee,
Wi’me kith and me kin a-makin’free:
So get to hell and ax leave o’he,
Afore thou gnaws me nuncle!
Uncle, Buncle!’

In the proper place upon the base
Tom boots him right — but, alas! that race
Hath a stonier seat than its stony face;
So he rued that net on the rumpo,
Lumpo, Bumpo!

Now Tom goes lame since home he came,
And his bootless foot is grievous game;
But troll’s old seat is much the same,
And the bone he boned from its owner!
Donor, Boner!