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Rincewind
03-07-2004, 05:34 PM
`You led the trump,' the old man said
With fury in his eye,
`And yet you hope my girl to wed!
Young man! your hopes of love are fled,
'Twere better she should die!

`My sweet young daughter sitting there,
So innocent and plump!
You don't suppose that she would care
To wed an outlawed man who'd dare
To lead the thirteenth trump!

`If you had drawn their leading spade
It meant a certain win!
But no! By Pembroke's mighty shade
The thirteenth trump you went and played
And let their diamonds in!

`My girl! Return at my command
His presents in a lump!
Return his ring! For understand
No man is fit to hold your hand
Who leads a thirteenth trump!

`But hold! Give every man his due
And every dog his day.
Speak up and say what made you do
This dreadful thing -- that is, if you
Have anything to say!'

He spoke. `I meant at first,' said he,
`To give their spades a bump:
Or lead the hearts, but then you see
I thought against us there might be,
Perhaps, a fourteenth trump!'

. . . . .

They buried him at dawn of day
Beside a ruined stump:
And there he sleeps the hours away
And waits for Gabriel to play
The last -- the fourteenth -- trump.


- A.B. Paterson