you know, the night before and was as hungry as a hunter.

"It's breakfast you want, is it?" says the great big tall woman, "it's
breakfast you'll be if you don't move off from here. My man is an ogre
and there's nothing he likes better than boys broiled on toast. You'd
better be moving on or he'll soon be coming."

"Oh! please mum, do give me something to eat, mum. I've had nothing to
eat since yesterday morning, really and truly, mum," says Jack. "I may
as well be broiled, as die of hunger."

Well, the ogre's wife wasn't such a bad sort, after all. So she took
Jack into the kitchen, and gave him a junk of bread and cheese and a
jug of milk. But Jack hadn't half finished these when thump! thump!
thump! the whole house began to tremble with the noise of someone
coming.

"Goodness gracious me! It's my old man," said the ogre's wife, "what
on earth shall I do? Here, come quick and jump in here." And she
bundled Jack into the oven just as the ogre came in.

He was a big one, to be sure. At his belt he had three calves strung
up by the heels, and he unhooked them and threw them down on the table
and said: "Here, wife, broil me a couple of these for breakfast. Ah
what's this I smell?

Fee-fi-fo-fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman,
Be he alive, or be he dead
I'll have his bones to grind my bread."