Here's the audio and text for "Dragon, Dragon" by John Gardner, part 2.
Now the cobbler’s youngest son saw that his turn had come. He was very upset and nervous, and he wished he had never been born. He was not clever, like his eldest brother, and he was not strong, like his second-eldest brother. He was a decent, honest boy who always minded his elders.
He borrowed a suit of armor from a friend of his who was a knight, and when the youngest son put the armor on it was so heavy he could hardly walk. From another knight he borrowed a sword, and that was so heavy that the only way the youngest son could get it to the dragon’s lair was to drag it along behind his horse like a plow.
When everything was in readiness, the youngest son went for a last conversation with his father.
“Father, have you any advice to give me?” he asked.
“Only this,” said the cobbler. “When and if you come to the dragon’s lair, recite the following poem:
Dragon, dragon, how do you do?
I’ve come from the king to murder you.
Say it very loudly and firmly, and the dragon will fall, God willing, at your feet.”
“Are you certain?” asked the youngest son uneasily.
“As certain as one can ever be in these matters,” said the wise old cobbler.
And so the youngest son set forth on his quest. He traveled over hill and dale and at last came to the dragon’s cave.
The dragon, who had seen the cobbler’s youngest son while he was still a long way off, was seated up above the door, inside the cave, waiting and smiling to himself. But minutes passed and no one came thundering in. The dragon frowned, puzzled, and was tempted to peek out. However, reflecting that patience seldom goes unrewarded, the dragon kept his head up out of sight and went on waiting. At last, when he could stand it no longer, the dragon craned his neck and looked. There at the entrance of the cave stood a trembling young man in a suit of armor twice his size, struggling with a sword so heavy he could lift only one end of it at a time.
At sight of the dragon, the cobbler’s youngest son began to tremble so violently that his armor rattled like a house caving in. He heaved with all his might at the sword and got the handle up level with his chest, but even now the point was down in the dirt. As loudly and firmly as he could manage, the youngest son cried—
Dragon, dragon, how do you do?
I’ve come from the king to murder you.
“What?” cried the dragon, flabbergasted. “You? You? Murder Me???” All at once he began to laugh, pointing at the little cobbler’s son. “He he he ho ha!” he roared, shaking all over, and tears filled his eyes. “He he he ho ho ho ha ha!” laughed the dragon. He was laughing so hard he had to hang onto his sides, and he fell off the door and landed on his back, still laughing, kicking his legs helplessly, rolling from side to side, laughing and laughing and laughing.
The cobbler’s son was annoyed. “I do come from the king to murder you,” he said. “A person doesn’t like to be laughed at for a thing like that.”
“He he he!” wailed the dragon, almost sobbing, gasping for breath. “Of course not, poor dear boy! But really, he he, the idea of it, ha, ha, ha! And that simply ridiculous poem!” Tears streamed from the dragon’s eyes and he lay on his back perfectly helpless with laughter.
“It’s a good poem,” said the cobbler’s youngest son loyally. “My father made it up.” And growing angrier he shouted, “I want you to stop that laughing, or I’ll—I’ll—” But the dragon could not stop for the life of him. And suddenly, in a terrific rage, the cobbler’s son began flopping the sword end over end in the direction of the dragon. Sweat ran off the youngest son’s forehead, but he labored on, blistering mad, and at last, with one supreme heave, he had the sword standing on its handle a foot from the dragon’s throat. Of its own weight the sword fell, slicing the dragon’s head off.
“He he ho huk,” went the dragon—and then he lay dead.
The two older brothers crawled out and thanked their younger brother for saving their lives. “We have learned our lesson,” they said.
Then the three brothers gathered all the treasures from the dragon’s cave and tied them to the back end of the youngest brother’s horse, and tied the dragon’s head on behind the treasures, and started home. “I’m glad I listened to my father,” the youngest son thought. “Now I’ll be the richest man in the kingdom.”
There were hand-carved picture frames and silver spoons and boxes of jewels and chests of money and silver compasses and maps telling where there were more treasures buried when these ran out. There was also a curious old book with a picture of an owl on the cover, and inside, poems and odd sentences and recipes that seemed to make no sense.
When they reached the king’s castle the people all leaped for joy to see that the dragon was dead, and the princess ran out and kissed the youngest brother on the forehead, for secretly she had hoped it would be him.
“Well,” said the king, “which half of the kingdom do you want?”
“My wizard’s book!” exclaimed the wizard. “He’s found my wizard’s book!” He opened the book and ran his finger along under the words and then said in a loud voice, “Glmuzk, shkzmlp, blam!”
Instantly the queen stood before them in her natural shape, except she was soaking wet from being sprinkled too often. She glared at the king.
“Oh dear,” said the king, hurrying toward the door.
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Who has already tried to defeat the dragon? (1 CUPS)
Do you think the youngest son will take his father’s advice? (1 CUPS)
Did the father’s advice work? Did the “fall at his feet?” (1-2 CUPS)
How did the youngest son defeat the dragon? (1-2 CUPS)
What new problem does the king have? (1 CUPS)
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Classwork
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