Judge — July 5, 1902 — page 16: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

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YE KYNG’S CHAMPYONNE. ! ‘Being a proper sorte of tale aboute howe ye goode knyghte Otto Mobyle sette at naughte alle ye attackes of ye enemyes of ye kyrg, kreatlwe toe theyre sorrowe and damaye. From ye chronicalies of ye matter as sete downe by Byilic Nysbette: ye scrybe) NOWE, whenne ye tyme was come for ye erowninge of ye kyng there was moche talke as toe who sholde be ye kyng’s champyonne, ye same being a parlous jobbe, indeede. And some sayde thys manne, and some sayde that manne, everie one choosinge a pryze-fyghter or some soche personne, who was more skylled in debate than in matters of battle. But at ye laste uppe came Sir Knyghte Otto Mobyle, a goode knyghte and true, who sayde that he wolde be gladde toe have ye keepyng of ye kyng’s prowess and [honour in his charge, for that he hadde but lyttle fyghtinge on hande nowe, as ye lawes on faste ryding were moste severe, and he hadde notte bumped bodie for a coone’s age. | And soe it was ordayned that Sir Knyghte Otto Mobyle sholde be ye cham- pyonne of ye kyng, and sholde keepe hys honour steadfastlie and welle at ye joustes and tournamentes at ye tyme of ye crowninge. Soe, whenne ye crowninge was being done, and ye kyng hadde sayde that he |lyked ye crowne but ille, as it was syx and seven-eyghths whenne he wore a seven, and alle ye knyghtes and ladyes and reporters and makers of photographes round- aboute hadde laughed immoderatelie at ye wittie sallie, there came a wilde whoope from outsyde ye palace, i; "Make waye for Sir Knyghte Otto Mobyle, who is ye hotte potatoe of ye |occasyonne !" and soche lyke yellinges. And ye good Knyghte Otto Mobyle came uponne ye scene, attyred in strange garbe, and mountedde uponne ye blamedeste steede that ever knyghte didde see, or esquire currie downe at nyght. For ye good Knighte Otto Mobyle hadde uponne hys heade neyther helmette nor armor of anie sorte, but rather a queere cap, belowe whych were goggles, ye |whych hidde hys face. And his bodie was covered wyth a strange garmente of cloth, notte wyth chyne mayle nor steele clothing. And he satte upon a steede that ran uponne wheeles and gave forthe the moste outelandyshe puffynges and wheez- ynges ye ever hearde telle of. And Sir Kayght Otto Mobyle satte uppe in ye saddle of hys strange steede and cryed, “ Back toe ye mynes wyth your bunche of shynes !" Thenne he tylted forthewyth atte ye crowde of cravenne knyghtes that hadde belyttled ye choyce of hymselfe as champyonne. He toke Sir Dedde Broke at ye fyrste dashe oute of ye boxe and threwe hym agaynste Sir Carde Scandale with soche force thatte he brake theyre legges and jammed theyre heades in theyre hates uppe to ye chynnes. He cut arounde ye corner and hurled Lorde Gasse Bagge into ye myddle of ye street and thenne pycked hym uppe and chucked him over a gardenne walle that | was convenyente therebye. He rammed ye duke of Muttonhedde over agaynste ye walls of ye palace soe that he tayne cryed enoughe ryght lustilie, and he myxed ye earle of Buggchouse uppe wyth ye remnantes of a streete-car that hadde stode in hys waye but a moment before. In goodlie truth, ye daye was fulle of knyghtes in aboute tenne secondes by ye | stoppe watch. And manie were ye hurrie-calles that went inne for ye ambulance and ye patrolle wagonne instanter. But it was notte more than foure or mayhappe five minutes untille Sir Knyghte Otto Mobyle hadde putte ye craven knyghtes toe ye badde, and, as he sayde hymselfe, hadde wonne in a walke. (Albeit, it seemed unto ye beholders that he had won in a ryot.) But it soe happened that at ye verie moment whenne hys tryumphe was ye greatest hys steede toke uponne itselfe strange notyonnes and cut uppe some oute- landyshe capers. It bucked acrosse ye palace yarde and ranne speedilie upon a telegraphe pole and exploded wyth a greate noise, soe that Sir Knyghte Otto Moyle was blowne over intoe ye next townshyppe. And whenne he came toe hymselfe he was made grande and loftie chaser of ye golfe balles for ye kyng, and dyvers other honours were heaped upon hym. But there be some which saye that he worked wytchcrafte and cunnynge hypnotysm uponne ye courte and ye knyghtes thereof, whenne he gotte ye steede wherewyth he wroughte so sorelie. Whych may be as it may be, but I putte it downe here as it didde seeme untoe me whenne that I behelde it, and it is but a plain, unvarnyshed tale, and noe hystor- icalle romaunce, nor accydente columne, nor nothyng of ye sorte. But ye kyng sayde that he wolde have no more champyonnes, for feare that he wolde run oute of knyghtes in ye courte. Aste any- HOW WILLIE ESCAPED, 44 AH." says the kind neighbor on the fifth of July, «I am glad to see you without a scratch to-day, Willie. Where are all your folks ?” “Papa is in the hospital,” answers Willie, “and mamma is up stairs rubbing oil on her blisters, and grandpa has gone to the doctor to get his arm set again, and Uncle John is down town trying to find something that will restore burned whiskers.” “Why, how did they all get hurt ?", “They all wanted to show me how to light my pin-wheels and things.” - comicbooks.com