11 FASTITOCALON

Look, there is Fastitocalon!

An island good to land upon,

Although 'tis rather bare.

Come, leave the sea! And let us run,

Or dance, or lie down in the sun!

See, gulls are sitting there!

Beware!

Gulls do not sink.

There they may sit, or strut and prink:

Their part it is to tip the wink,

If anyone should dare

Upon that isle to settle,

Or only for a while to get

Relief from sickness or the wet,

Or maybe boil a kettle.

Ah, foolish folk, who land on HIM,

And little fires proceed to trim

And hope perhaps for tea!

It may be that His shell is thick,

He seems to sleep; but He is quick,

And floats now in the sea

With guile;

And when He hears their tapping feet,

Or faintly feels the sudden heat,

With smile

HE dives,

And promptly turning upside-down

He tips them off, and deep they drown,

And lose their silly lives

To their surprise,

Be wise!

There are many monsters in the Sea,

But none so perilous as HE,

Old horny Fastitocalon,

Whose mighty kindred all have gone,

The last of the old Turtle-fish.

So if to save your life you wish

Then I advise:

Pay heed to sailors' ancient lore,

Set foot on no uncharted shore!

Or better still,

Your days at peace on Middle-earth

In mirth

Fulfill!