ow when The King of the Rock—for there did abide a King of Astrobaster Rock, all ready—gat tidings of these shaky makes affecting his rule, he gatherd in him

            And the King spake unto the Oracol, saying, The eyes that here do lodge in the head atops’n present shoulders, have not they witnesst treason?  [Tho, with ears had he but tidings heard, yet seen not such with any eyes.  But he practist retteric there before the Oracol.]  Hath this fist (saith he) not purple close’d in fury, the hamstringue haunches not rippld in their rage for the mortifying crimes of the toothlost fool which dangleth soil’s own feet from mine emerald Wonderthrone—a gift, this throne, from some of the gods, in honour of my quality—whereupon I in sitting do uniquely validate a case for worldly aspirasiens?  [Tho the throne were neither emerald, but wicker & pitch, neither any capital Wonder.  Neither hath it come gifted from any gods, but off from offen the porch of his bedfast aunt came it.  Faaa!  Loading his bulk thereupon validateth but the chair for its exceeding strength.]  Thus all spake the King before the Oracole.

            But the King of Astrobaster Rock, all his wont was to speak & be heard, neither hath he in his heart any true regard for answers from omnishient hearers.  And he seen there in the rude dais the blind unspeaking Oracol all sullied, and knew that he hath no humer for its spectacol.  And he made as to turn & go.  But reach-ed he then neath his eiderdown kilt, and of sudden sprang about and brought down a mincing mallet down upon the Oracle, and tosh!—brake it unto subatoms, e’en unto motes & tittles brake he it.  And in his lust of Oracolbreakage declar-ed he through slaver, I have suff’t enogh of sharing power with an egg.  And he blay a parting kiss of mockery.

            And he turnt then his gall upon the stone figure of the god Cosmo with its posing muscles, and rase up the mincing mallet, threating through wolfsteeth, Come, thews; see how that I put thy loaf on the floor, as well.  And strode he then outen the place, callt the Oracol Lounge by sayists of histeries, and went he by sled & furry boot agayn through the Devil’s Icebox, he full with frigid purpose and a visien of the posture he henceforth wud to strike.  None more of the pliabol & considring & compromitic Kingue heretofore so belov-ed of him self, none more of’t; but in steads a Kingh with first word in a matter, first word to be also the last & markt by a mallet.  One King, One Face; and that Face be angry all the times.  And as he went he knew not that a blended vengeance, issu-ed of the miscible powers of the Oracol and of Cosmo and of a downing spirit in the Devil’s Icebox, had layd on and sent him mad.

4.

            And the freshly mad King enterd into his Emerald Room (insofar as wicker is emerold), and beheld he there then old Shek’s pitied distract there upon My throne!, for that was whereat that Shek hath told him so to perch.  And the King of the Rock took the neck of a chicken, and went a whirl-&-hurl with it, and snesh!—it piercid the armour of Shek’s blankster all agape, which armour were but some pickld rags.  And that victom, he pitcht down smitten off from offen the throne, yea, e’en after all his living and its thousant breaths.

            Tremenduloe!  Bravadioder Magrosnikook! crieth the King of the Rock, which express-ed for him self the notien, What an man am I, and what an man have I come to be!  For even in my youth (notiond he) did I wield a wicked neck, yea, e’en from the time that I slew, with the neck of an ostrich, the galaxy lion that trackt & traded in my flocks.  [But the King of the Rock exalteth him self with mystory fables, for there was no such time, nor no such galoxie lion, nor no such neq of any ostorich.  Yet, he against this present one having residual braken teeth did with the nek of a chikkin prevail; and this, seen in its own light, were certainly commendabol.]

            Now then proceeded the King of the Rock to drag away the carcus of the scatterd youth away from the throne whereat he lay pitcht.  Saith the King, This my sweetseat, my godpod, my theraputicol throne, ’tis neither for the hobbld nor the skullwhackt nor the necksmit.  ’Tis for to nestle a man of prowess who seizeth all and giveth out nought but bumpfs; unto that manner of man alone is welded & wed this neat thronewerk.