| |
| THERE was a giant in time of old, | |
| A mighty one was he: | |
| He had a wife, but she was a scold, | |
| So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold; | |
| And he had children three. | 5 |
| |
| It happened to be an election day, | |
| And the giants were choosing a king; | |
| The people were not democrats then; | |
| They did not talk of the rights of men, | |
| And all that sort of thing. | 10 |
| |
| Then the giant took his children three | |
| And fastened them in the pen; | |
| The children roared; quoth the giant, “Be still!” | |
| And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill | |
| Rolled back the sound again. | 15 |
| |
| Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums, | |
| As big as the State House dome; | |
| Quoth he, “There ’s something for you to eat; | |
| So stop your mouths with your ’lection treat, | |
| And wait till your dad comes home.” | 20 |
| |
| So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout, | |
| And whittled the boughs away; | |
| The boys and their mother set up a shout; | |
| Said he, “You ’re in and you can’t get out, | |
| Bellow as loud as you may.” | 25 |
| |
| Off he went, and he growled a tune | |
| As he strode the fields along; | |
| ’T is said a buffalo fainted away, | |
| And fell as cold as a lump of clay, | |
| When he heard the giant’s song. | 30 |
| |
| But whether the story ’s true or not, | |
| It is not for me to show; | |
| There is many a thing that ’s twice as queer, | |
| In somebody’s lectures that we hear, | |
| And those are true, you know. | 35 |
| |
| What are those loved ones doing now, | |
| The wife and children sad? | |
| Oh, they are in a terrible rout, | |
| Screaming and throwing their pudding about, | |
| Acting as they were mad. | 40 |
| |
| They flung it over to Roxbury hills, | |
| They flung it over the plain, | |
| And all over Milton and Dorchester too | |
| Great lumps of pudding the giants threw, | |
| They tumbled as thick as rain. | 45 |
| |
| Giant and mammoth have passed away, | |
| For ages have floated by; | |
| The suet is hard as a marrow bone, | |
| And every plum is turned to stone, | |
| But there the puddings lie. | 50 |
| |
| And if, some pleasant afternoon, | |
| You ’ll ask me out to ride, | |
| The whole of the story I will tell, | |
| And you may see where the puddings fell, | |
| And pay for the punch beside. | 55 |
| |
