"No pirate on the ocean wide
Can fright me, for I know their ways.
Shall I do less in times of stress
Than soldiers who have earned My praise?

"Yet stay," he paused awhile, and then--
"Let messengers the country scour
On pain of death forbidding men
To speak, in hut or hall or tower,
Of what I said this night of dread,
Or where I spent its darkest hour."

Swift flew the minions to obey;
The wearied monarch slumbered late;
Yet, in the Capital next day,
Writ large upon his palace gate,
A mighty scroll to every soul
Blazoned the words that challenged Fate.

The monarch's rage surpassed all bounds
When of this treachery he read;
A price of several million pounds
Was placed upon the miscreant's head;
But sceptics jibe--an odious tribe--
And swear that he will die in bed.

* * * * *

A New Way to Pay Old Debts.