Page 227 POEM Secret Love By Vashti of the Flaming Tresses With Notes and sighs I build my

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Page 227 POEM Secret Love By: Vashti of the Flaming Tresses With Notes and sighs I build my Treasure Trove (This is the Love that Secret Lovers know) Clandestine Meetings in a Moonlit Grove, All these are Ways for Secret Love to grow. Perhaps we're by a Marriage held apart -- Or Age or Rank, or other Circumstance. No barrier rules a Secret Lover's Heart When Cupid's Arrows join them in Love's Dance! This is the Love that ever is Forlorn -- Comfortless if the other one should Die, For Silently and Hidden must they Mourn. This is the Love that does in Secret Cry. Written to introduce the costume "Clandestine Love" at the Masked Court of Love in the shire of Shadowlands, Kingdom Dance Workshop, Feb. 11, 1989. (AS XXIII) Page 228 FILK Song of the Peoples aka We'll Know They Are Mongols By Their Smell. Tune: They'll know we are Christians by our Love. Oh, they sleep with their ponies and they very seldom wash, Oh, they sleep with their ponies and they very seldom wash, And they drink fermented mares milk and they very often slosh, (or "they very seldom swash,") And we'll know they are Mongols by their smell, by their smell, Yes, we'll know they are Mongols by their smell. Oh, they mount on their ponies and forth they do ride, Oh, they mount on their ponies and forth they do ride, And whenever they get upwind the peasants choke and hide, For they know they are the Mongols by their smell, by their smell, Yes, they know they are the Mongols by their smell. Oh, they sound like a landslide that is going in reverse, (x2) And a trio of tone-deaf mules could hardly sound worse And we'll know they are Scotsmen by their songs, etc. Oh, they play on an instrument that makes a dead dog flee, (x2) And just to hear their music makes a foeman bend his knee And we'll know they are Scotsmen by their songs, etc. Oh, they set sail for England and arrive south of France, (x2) And they stomp out the floorboards and they think that it's a dance And we'll know that they are Vikings 'cause they're dumb, etc. Oh, they love to loot cattle and to rape wenches too, (x2) But they sometimes get it backwards and they don't know what to do. And we'll know that they are Vikings 'cause they're dumb, etc. They keep pigs in the kitchen and they eat with their knives, (x2) And they take their entertainment in the sleaziest of dives, And we'll know by their manners that they're Huns, etc. Oh, they sleep on the table or you'll find them beneath, (x2) And whenever told get married they will send a funeral wreath And we'll know by their manners that they're Huns, etc. Page 229 FILK Song of the Peoples (continued) Oh, they drink beer and whiskey and they never sober up, (x2) And they smell like rancid stills and breath could stop a dragon, And we'll know they are Celts by their booze, etc. Oh they ferment all their shamrocks and they make some Rivengut, (x2) And if you take a real big drink you'll end up on your butt, And we'll know they are Celts by their booze, etc. Oh, they leap upon ladies and they very often miss, (x2) And when ladies faint from their bad breath, they think it is their kiss And the Frenchmen all think that they're Don Juan, etc. They spend hours at the mirror and rehearsing all their "lines" (x2) When their Lady yawns from boredom, it's from passion she repines And the Frenchmen all think that they're Don Juan, they're Don Juan, Yes, the Frenchmen all think that they're Don Juan. Page 230 SONG Bonnie George Campbell Dates back to 1400-1550. Found in "Twelve Centuries of English Poetry and Prose" Editors "Newcomer-Andrews" High upon Highlands, and low upon Tay, Bonnie George Campbell rade out on a day. Saddled and bridled and gallant rade he; Hame cam his guid horse, (good horse) but never came he. Out cam his auld mither (old mother) greeting fu' sair, (weeping full sore) And out cam his bonnie bride riving her hair. (tearing her hair) Saddled and bridled and booted rade he; Toom hame cam the saddle (empty home came the saddle) but never cam he. 'My meadow lies green, and my corn is unshorn, My barn is to build, and my babe is unborn.' Saddled and bridled and booted rade he; Toom home cam the saddle, but never cam he. Page 231 SONG How do we Teach the Children By: Valeria Richila Navarro CHORUS How do we teach the children What is legend or true? How do we teach the children What our Kings did do? Mother, dear Mother, tell me if it is true That Inmann in one battle Over a hundred slew. Daughter, dear daughter I'm sorry to say it's not true In that one battle He only killed Ninety-two. Mother, dear Mother, is it true Patrick could sway The weather with his wishes Bringing sun on tourney day. Daughter, dear daughter How could you get it so wrong It was the fair Queen Julia Who held the sunshine so long. Mother dear Mother, is it true what they say That Michael is a pied piper And children follow his way. Daughter, dear Daughter True Michael they follow behind But he follows fair Rebekka He's just the first child in line. Page 232 SONG Jugglers Honor By: Valeria Richila Navarro For Jugglers honor, I do fight A fools mission you laugh. Yet, it fills my heart with such delight To fight on his behalf, behalf. To fight on his behalf. My friend he meets me by the day Oft times he makes me laugh. We sing and dance the night away Sharing a good carafe, carafe. Sharing a good carafe. With Barons and Dons and Dukes around Friends wonder if I'm daft. Tho' handsome men with brains abound I'm charmed by a laugh, a laugh. I'm charmed by a laugh. I chose him not for his fighting style, But how he makes me laugh. If friendship is a cache of gold I have my share plus half, plus half. I have my share plus half. Page 233 POEM The Ansteorran Lady Author unknown. This was also untitled when I received it. When you wake up in the morning and your body feels like lead 'Cause you spent the night carousing 'stead of going straight to bed Who's the one who saves the herald from the boot that you would throw It's your sweet and gentle lady who was up an hour ago. When you're late in getting armoured and inspections almost due And you're struggling with your laces and your snaps and buttons too. Who's the one who snaps and buckles you into your chain and plate. It's your swift and skillful lady who makes sure you won't be late. When the herald calls the matchings and your sweat begins to pour (You're not afraid, it's just that you've never fought a Duke before.) Who's the one who blows a kiss at you and waves you to the fight. It's your brave and loyal lady who believes you'll beat a knight. When the battle is a bridge fight and your friends around have died, And you scream and charge ahead, to find you've reached the other side. Who's that voice you hear a-cheering as you face foes all around? It's your shy and quiet lady who is making all that sound. And when the battle's over and the fightings's done and through And your helm is sort of dented and your thigh is black and blue Who's the one who brings you water and who helps you from the field? It's your kind and helpful lady who is carrying your shield. And when the day is finished and you're beaten once again And you know it's 'cause the foes you battled were the better men. Who's the one who holds you tightly as you weakly drop your sword? It's your dear and loving lady who's still proud that you're her lord. So, you men of Ansteorra, all you warriors so bold Raise a cup to those among us who are worth their weight in gold Be they delicate, or buxom. Be their shading rose or cream, To the Ansteorran Ladies! To the best part of the Dream! Page 234 SONG Oak, Ash, and Thorn (Also called A Tree Song.) By: Rudyard Kipling Of all the trees that grow so fair Old England to adorn, Greater are none beneath the Sun Than Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs, (All of a Midsummer's morn!) Surely we sing of no little thing In Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oak of the clay lived many a day Or ever AEneas began. Ash of the Loam was a lady at home When Brut was an outlaw man. Thorn of the Down saw New Troy Town (From which was London born); Witness hereby the ancientry Of Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Yew that is old in churchyard-mould He breedeth a mighty bow, Alder for shoes do wise men choose And beech for cups also. But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled And your shoes are clean outworn Back ye must speed for all that ye need To Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Ellum she hateth mankind, and waiteth Till every gust be laid To drop a limb on the head of him That anyway trusts her shade. But whether a lad be sober or sad, Or mellow with ale from the horn, He will take no wrong when he lieth along 'Neath Oak, and Ash, and Thorn. Oh, do not tell the Priest our plight, Or he would call it a sin; But-we have been out in the woods all night, A-conjuring Summer in! And we bring you news by word of mouth- Good news for cattle and corn- Now is the Sun come up from the South With Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Sing Oak, and Ash, and Thorn, good sirs (All of a Midsummer's morn)! England shall bide 'till Judgment Tide By Oak, and Ash, and Thorn! Note: When sung, the last four lines of the first verse is usually done as a chorus, repeating after every verse. Page 235 POEM The Claymore Rose By: Sutan BloudAxe Twilight on a medieval front Dead Britons and Highlanders lay Along the ground in no particular order. No more returning home to their children Or their wives - their roses. One lone Scott remained His bloody claymore at his side. He mourns quietly at the loss of his comrades-in-arms. And thinks of Lorma, his love. He contemplates death, He thinks of her soft touch. He clutches his sword, Oh those blue eyes that sparkle in moonlight. A tear trickles from his eyes - Goodbye, my dear Lorma. Cool red liquid trickles from the warriors chest. He falls to the ground - Darkness. And where blood dropped, red roses bloomed. Claymore Roses. The Rose of Doom. Page 236 SONG Fox Hunt, The By: Vashti of the Flaming Tresses Feb. 1990 Note: For a lady/lord duet, V=Vixen, F=Fox. V. The fox he has come up to town (Sly He!) The fox he has come up to town (Sly He! and Merry Ho!) The fox he has come up to town, And he is hunting up and down CHORUS: And O A-hunting we will go, (Sly He! and Merry Ho!) And O A-hunting we will go! F. He's got into the chicken pen And stolen out the fattest hen! V. The Cock he gave a Mighty Cry To warn the Men that Fox was nigh! V. They've chased him with both Hounds and Men F. But Fox got clean away again. V. The Vixen then took up the Chase And tracked him though he left no Trace. V. The Vixen did the Fox outface. "I Challenge you unto a Race!" V. The Vixen looked Fox in the Eyes "And you, my Dear, shall be the Prize!" F. "I'm too Wily for you to catch!" "In Cunning I've not met my match!" V. "The Hunter now the Hunted be" "And I will have the Victory!" F. He's doubled back upon the Trail, V. But she has seen his bushy Tail! F. Each time he thought he'd win the Day V. She was there to block his Way! F. "I'm not afraid of Hounds or Men, But I'm afraid of this Vixen!" V. She hid herself beneath a Stile (A Vixen does not lack for Guile). F. At last he thought the coast was clear! V. She Pounced on him when he got near! V. "Tho you're a Fiend to Cock and Hen You've met your Match in the Vixen!" V. Now she has caught and held him fast, F. And Love has come to Fox at last! V. She's taught him how to hunt the Wren -- For stealing Chickens is a Sin! Page 237 SONG The Wife of Usher's Well Dates back to 1400-1550. Found in "Twelve Centuries of English Poetry and Prose" Editors "Newcomer-Andrews" There lived a wife at Usher's Well, And a wealthy wife was she; She had three stout and stalwart sons, And sent them o'er the sea. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely ane, When word came to the carline wife (old wife ) That her three sons were gone. They hadna been a week from her, A week but barely three, When word came to the carline wife (old wife ) That her sons she'd never see. 'I wish the wind may never cease, Nor fashes in the flood, (troubles/storms) 'Till my three sons come hame to me, In earthly flesh and blood.' It fell about the Martinmass (Nov. 11th) When nights are lang and mirk, (long and dark) The earlin wife's three sons came hame, And their hats were o the birk. (of the birch) (continued) Page 238 SONG The Wife of Usher's Well (continued) It neither grew in syke nor ditch, (marsh nor ditch) Nor yet in ony sheugh (any furrow) But at the gates of Paradise, That birk grew fair eneugh. (that birch grew) 'Blow up the fire, my maidens! Bring water from the well! For a' my house shall feast this night, Since my three sons are well.' And she has made to them a bed, She's made it large and wide, And she's ta'en her mantle her about, Sat down at the bed-side. Up then crew the red, red cock, And up and crew the gray; The eldest to the youngest said, ' Tis time we were away.' The cock he hadna craw'd but once, And clapped his wings at a', When the youngest to the eldest said, 'Brother, we must awa. 'The cock doth craw, the day doth daw, The channerin worm doth chide; (fretting worm doth) Gin we be mist out o our place, (if we be) A sair pain we maun bide. 'Fare ye weel, my mother dear! Fareweel to barn and byre! (granary and stable) And fare ye weel, the bonny lass That kindles my mother's fire!' Page 239 SONG Lust Puppy's Song By: Valeria Richila Navarro and Stephen the Juggler Be careful fair maidens whatever you do. Don't let his sweet looks ever fool you. He'll charm you with kisses and laughter and song. But a lust puppy never stays one place too long. He loves to be fighting, seems never to tire. But his success with the ladies has raised the men's ire. He acts like he loves, and you'll think so, too. But a lust puppy's first love is fighting, not you. He'll fight in the war, or on tourney field. Lust puppies aren't smart, so don't ask him to yield. He whispers sweet nothings, but mostly they're lies. Yet still you believe him, it's those lost puppy eyes. Page 240 SONG Jen and Sutan's Song By: Valeria Richila Navarro Of Jen and Sutan do I sing Whose time meets now to form a ring. A ring of laughter, fighting and love Envied on earth and blessed from above. Sutan is Jen's headstrong knight. Yes, they do love, but lord how they fight. But theirs is not a battle of might For we all know that Jen is right. Jen is a lady without a frock And if you doubt she'll clean your clock So make sure you give the lady her due Or you'll be fighting Sutan, too. Most knights choose ladies who bill and coo Who understand not the fighting they do. Yet Sutan did not as it may be seen... We wait for the day Jen makes him queen. Page 241 SONG Nine Times A Night A handsome young sailor from London came down He's been paid off his ship in old Liverpool Town They asked him his name and he answered them quite I belong to a family called Nine Times A Night. Well a handsome young widow who still wore her weeds her husband had left her his money and deeds Resolved she was on her conjugal rights And to soften her sorrows with Nine Times A Night. So she's called to her serving maids, Ann and Amelia To keep a watch out for this wonderful sailor And if ever he happened to chance in their sight To bring her fond tidings of Nine Times A Night. She was favored by fortune the very next day These two giggling girls saw him coming their way They rushed up the stairs full of amorous delight crying "Here comes that sailor with his Nine Times A Night." She's jumped out of bed and she's pulled on her clothes and straight to the hall door like lightning she goes She's looked him once over and gave him a smack And a bargain was struck - No more sailing for Jack! The wedding was over, the bride tolled the bell Jack trimmer her sails five times and that pleased her well She vowed to herself she was satisfied quite But she still gives sly hints about Nine Times A Night. Says Jack, "Me dear bride, you mistook me quite wrong I said to that family I did belong Nine times a night's a bit hard for a man I couldn't do it meself, but me sister she can!" Page 242 SONG The Little Irish Girl This version is set up for two voices. Each verse has four lines, but due to the two different parts, it may not look that way on paper. M) As I went out one evening to Tipperary town, M) I met a little colleen a-moung the heather brown. M) Oh, says I perhaps you're lonely, she tossed her pretty curl. F) Well maybe I prefer it! M) Och, the dear little girl. M) Says I, perhaps you're married? F) Says I, perhaps I'm not! M) Says I, I'll be your gossoon, F) Says I, I'll not be caught! M) Oh, your eyes are like the ocean, and your heart is like a pearl. F) 'Tis true, then I will keep it! M) Och, the dear little girl. M) Says I, I've got a cabin and pigs that number seven, M) And oh, with you ma-yourneen sure, the place would be like heaven. F) Oh, I looked into his eyes then, my heart was in a whirl! M) The little pigs had done it! Och, the dear little girl! F) The little pigs had done it! Page 243 POEM The Outlands War By: Dierdre Mulleabhar Copyright 1989 Debra C. Eccles Written as part of the Queens College of Bards Crowns of Ansteorra project. In the land of Ansteorra, in the shire they call Blacklake Marcus the Vinter, called the troll, came with chalk and stake He drove stakes into our fair land to mark an Outland road Right between King Hector's feet, so recklessly he strode When looking up, he saw our king. The sight made his heart quake Wisely he dropped onto his knees, apologies to make Queen Rowan, our fair Iron Rose, asked what he did there His answer shook our gracious queen, that he so much did dare He gave our Queen a shameful map with markings boldly fake By the markings on this map the Outlands land would take The Outlands would claim Middleford, Tres Locks, and Stargate Bordermarch and Greywood too. This much he did state The Outlands came to build a road through Ansteorra's land They said our land to them belonged, and seisin did demand King Hector of the mighty sword upon the throne did sit And said that we would hold our land. Thus the fires of war were lit Though King Michael held the throne when the Outlands we did fight Thanks to Hector King and Rowan Queen, we displayed our might Though THEY say we did not win upon the battle day We hold our land free and clear ... Not under Outland sway. Page 244 SONG Stormclouds By: Dierdre Mulleabhar Copyright 1989 by Debra C. Eccles Used with permission CHORUS: repeat after each verse Oh send the stormclouds flying high And send the sun away Ever since my true love died I cannot bide a sunny day When I was young I loved a lord A handsome man was he And he said that I was for him All that his love should be We pledged to wed upon a day When summer's sun was high But ere we did the king did call And he away did ride Away he rode off with the king He said that he would fight He said that he would glory win Through deeds of arm and might And after that the battle came The hosts around him drew Yes, he fought valiantly that day And many foes he slew The sun shone bright over battlefield All through the battle fierce But the blue skies were a mockery For a spear my love did pierce Yes he did fall there on that day And died there with his foes And ever since that sunny day The sunshine brings me woe The corbies picked him to the bone Wolves dragged his bones away The softness of my heart was lost When he died on that day So now I sit here all alone I shut away the sun I think about the warriors bold I grieve for what they've done Page 245 SONG The Keeper Would A-Hunting Go This makes a good two person piece, especially the chorus. The keeper would a-hunting go, And under his coat he carried a bow All for to shoot at the merry little doe Among the leaves so green-o. CHORUS - After every verse Jackie Boy! Master! Sing ye well? Very Well! Hey down! Ho Down! Derry, derry, down Among the leaves so green-o. To my hey, down, down! To my ho down, down! Hey down! Ho down! Derry, derry down Among the leaves so green-o. The first doe she did cross the plain The keeper fetched her back again Where she is now she may remain Among the leaves so green-o. The next doe she did cross the brook The keeper fetched her back with his hook Where she is now you may go look Among the leaves so green-o. The keeper did a-hunting go In the woods he caught a doe She looked so sad he had to let her go Among the leaves so green-o. Page 246 SONG Guardian of the Grape By: Marcus Ilvolpe' CHORUS: Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, we shall forever hold you Guardian of the Grape for the ladies of the realm. Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, they come to you in bunches, Guardian of the Grape, though the skins are left at home. Though champion of Rosenfeld in A.S. 25, And strong and sure at sword point with the fastest feet alive, One title that he holds we know will never be at stake, For Lord Ingve of Jarvik is the Guardian of the Grape He comes to them so humblely, a gift within his palm. He waits until the air is still and everything is calm. His eyes flash as he smiles at them and turns on all his charm, For Ingve holds a skinless grape cupped dear inside his palm. CHORUS: (switch to this chorus here) Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, to god we shall regale you, Guardian of the Grape for the ladies of the realm. Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, they every one adore you, Guardian of the Grape though the skins are left at home. The ladies fair and not so fair all know him sight and name, For as the perfect courtier he does treat them all the same. They never try to flee from him for he carries a pleasant creed, A seedless grape and flashing smile when ever him they meet. His rapier is quick and sharp, his feet fast in reverse But though a warrior true in heart the ladies all come first. He holds his honor true and high but never will forsake The Ansteorran ladies whom he gives a skinless grape. CHORUS: Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, we shall forever hold you Guardian of the Grape for the ladies of the realm. Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, they come to you in bunches Guardian of the Grape though the skins are left at home. Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, to god we must regale you, Guardian of the Grape for the ladies of the realm. Lord Ingve, Lord Ingve, they everyone adore you, Guardian of the Grape though the skins are left at home. Page 247 SONG Danish War Song Hear the Eastern Bell ring out from the Danish coast, Telling over land that the battle may be lost. Rally now, and take heart, all you Danish men. God will help us, may he give us victory again. Driving through the forest night came a hostile force, Pity all good men with no time to man their swords. Rally now, and take heart, all you Danish men. God will help us, may he give us victory again. Pistol cracked and sword rang out, through the cannon fire, Foes of Danish host had a strength not found before. Rally now, etc.... Over towers' wounded feet, streaming lifeblood ran, Dearly paid our foes for the gaelic steps they won. Rally now, etc.... "Hate is dead!", a foreman cried, many warriors fall, On and over land is our heart's undying cause. Rally now, etc.... Page 248 FILK Armorial Toad By: Tadhg Liath of Duncairn Tune: King of the Road Six tankards on a fess; Overall a sword, I guess; Two skulls in dexter base I can't wait to see Star's face. Five household names I've got, Fifty letters on the dot. I'm a herald's dream, by no means Armorial toad! A couple of bordures, a tierce and a gore A chief that's invected, and charged with two more It's not too complex, as you can see The other three quarters are clean as can be! Two semees and a chief But if that should come to grief And be returned some day I'll just use it anyway Hey, if it fails as a device As a badge it still looks nice! I'm a herald's dream, by no means Armorial toad! Page 249 Ode to Biddy McGee SONG Traditional When I was young an' in me prime I courted Biddy McGee A fine big strappin' lump o' a woman and she stood about two foot three Her father was a mean old creature He had plenty o' gold an' land But he reared up the gruff the dirty mean old nasty old miserable old devil when I asked him for his daughters hand. I resolved there and then for Molly's sake that the two of us would elope I borrowed a ladder from Mickey O'brien and twenty yards of good strong strappn' rope I put the ladder up to Molly's boudoir that's French for a woman's bed but the ladder broke, and the whole twenty stone fell down on me bloody head. Well I threw her into the oxen cart and for the clergy we set out I found Father Nagle in McCarty's pub with his head in a bottle of stout He looked at me with his bleary old eyes and smiles Molly up and down Oh I pity ya my son I'm dyin' with a thirst will ya buy me two bottles o' stout? I'll only charge ya half a crown. Well do you take this fine big strappin' lump of a woman to be yer lawful wedded wife? Will ya feed 'er bacon an' cabbage and spuds fer the rest o' yer natural life? When the icy winds blows 'round 'er ol' legs will ye guard 'er from the chill? Will ya buy another bottle o' stout I'm dyin' w' a drought? an me yea says Father I will. Now I been married for twenty years and I don't regret one day and that was last wednesday a fortnight she told me she was in a family way! I threw 'er inta the oxen cart she landed like a sack I took 'er back ta 'er ol' father, I said listen here ya dirty ol' mean ol' nasty ol' rotten ol' miserable ol' devil Ya can have yer daughter back! Page 250 SONG LOCH LOMOND By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond, Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. CHORUS Oh! Ye'll take the high road, and I'll take the low road, And I'll be in Scotland afore ye, But me and my true love we'll never meet again, On the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. 'Twas then that we parted, in yon shady glen On the steep, steep side of Ben Lomond, Where in purple hue, the Highland hills we view And the moon coming out in the glooming. The wee birdies, and the wildflowers spring And in sunshine the waters are sleeping, But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again, Tho' the waeful may cease frae their grieving. Page 251 SONG The Minstrel Boy By: Rudyard Kipling? The minstrel boy to the war is gone In the ranks of death you'll find him. His father's sword he has girded on His wild harp slung behind him. "Land of song," sang the warrior bard, "Tho all the world betrays ye, One sword at least thy rights shall guard, One faithful harp shall praise thee." The minstrel fell, but the foeman's chains could not keep his proud soul under. The harp he bore ne'er spoke again For he tore its cords asunder... And said "No chains shall sully thee, Thou soul of love and bravery, Thy songs were made for the pure and free, They ne'er shall sound in slavery." 9 Page 252 SONG To the Beggin I Will Go If the beggin' be as good a trade As I have heard them say It's time that I was on the road And a joggin' down the brae. CHORUS - After each verse To the beggin' I will go, will go, To the beggin' I will go. And afore the time we go away I'll let my hair grow long I will not pare my nails at all For the beggers wear them long. I'll go unto the cobblers They call him Artie Grey I'll have him make a pair of shoes And I'll wear them night and day. And if there be a wedding And I chance to be there I'll rise among the weddin' folk And bless the happy pair. Some will give me beef and bread And some will give me cheese And if I do not get my fill I'll take just what I please. Page 253 SONG Lament of a Novice By: Moses ben Eldad Tune: Finnegan's Wake Oh, I just joined the SCA, I'd really like to be a knight. They said, "Your white belt's on its way, But first you'd better learn to fight." I heard if you don't win a challenge In the lists you can't compete. They said, "King Asbjorne there can help you, Toss a gauntlet at his feet!" Broken shield and broken helm, Broken arm - What can I say? That's the first mistake I made the year I joined the SCA. I ask is there another way, I couldn't face the king's attack. They told me, "Join the next melee. Go hit some people in the back!" Laeghaire just killed me with a sword, Balin's axe is in my face. Baron John he bit my leg, Eaudimon hit me with a mace. Bloody nose and twisted fingers I don't like the games they play. That's my second big mistake the year I joined the SCA. I said for fighting I don't care What else is there a knight can do. They said, "Attend the ladies fair, A court of love may smile on you." They told me, "Come, seduce a maid." With eager lust my heart was filled. They said, "These ladies want a man." And brought me to the Virgin's Guild. Female scream and vicious kick, I thought she'd be an easy prey. That's the the third mistake I made the year I joined the SCA. (continued) Page 254 Lament of a Novice SONG (continued) They filled my goblet to the brim, For drinking is a knightly deed. The revel grows a little dim, I think I had six pints of mead. I tried to drink Sir Angus down He can't hold very much they said. I hauled a willing wench upstairs And passed out when we hit the bed. Fuzzy teeth and aching skull I don't think I'll live through the day. That's the fourth mistake I made the year I joined the SCA. Now, armourer's a noble trade But first I need rattan, of course. Eight bucks a yard, the deal I made For Barak was my only source. The ninjas sang insulting songs Where lies and slander floated free. I said, To write one can't take long, If Yang can do it, why not me? I slandered every knight and now I'll have to fight them all today. That's the last mistake I made the year I joined the SCA! Page 255 SONG The Lying Song (Suggested verses are given, but the point is to write your own, preferably about people present. Go wild! After all, your lying!) Chorus: (After each verse) (Group sings chorus and responses.) You're lying, you're lying, I can tell you're lying. I'll never trust a single thing you say to me. Don Tivar never calls his blows (You're lying, you're lying.) Don Tivar never calls his blows, (I doubt what you do say.) Don Tivar never calls his blows, Unless you hit him in the nose. ( I'll never trust a single thing you say to me. ) Adelicia has no pretty clothes. Except for these, and she borrowed those. Oh, Vashti cannot dance at all. With every spin she takes a fall. Don Galen is a lazy bum. He's always sitting on his thumbs. Oh, Stephen cannot hold his balls, They're always bouncing off the walls. Sir Gunther never learned to fight His belt is only painted white. Valeria cannot write a poem. They never rhyme or even fit the meter very well. Duke Lloyd is gentle, soft and meek He always turns the other cheek. Steppes Warlord is a small event I wonder where the people went. Don Alaric never parried well A single blow and down he fell. Joselyn cannot cook a feast She spends the most and serves the least. Lord Sebastian cannot throw His knife and axe are just for show. For Twelfth Night no one ever sews Just wear your oldest tourney clothes. Page 256 POEM The Baron by Robin of Gilwell The Baron was a fighter, and he knew the ways of war, The blood and death and carnage he'd seen many times before. He knew how many men must die for battles to be won, So coldly counting up the cost, he did what must be done. He led his army off to war, but never did a trace Of feeling or emotion ever show upon his face. The baron was at table when the awful summons came -- There were raiders on the border putting villages to flame. The maidens they were ravishing, the men they did enslave, Save those who had resisted, who had found an early grave. Expressionless, the baron stood, and then addressed the hall, Saying, "Let there be a summons for my knights and levies all. Put off your pleasant pastimes and prepare your armor bright! Fetch your swords and shields, for the time has come to fight!" The knights and serjeants left their pells; the yeomen left their fields, The smithies left off plowshares to make mailrings and shields. The host was soon assembled, and was quickly put to order In a line behind their baron, and went riding to the border. At every farm they came to, and at every hamlet, too, They called for men to join them, and their numbers ever grew. For the Baron was a fighter, and he knew the ways of war, The blood and death and carnage he'd seen many times before. He knew how many men must die for battles to be won, So coldly counting up the cost, he did what must be done. He led his army off to war, but never did a trace Of feeling or emotion ever show upon his face. (continued) The Baron Page 257 (continued) POEM They were nearly to the border when they spied a squalid hut A rat-infested hovel with a door that wouldn't shut. It looked deserted, but in back, a boy was pitching hay "Ho, lad! Go fetch your father, we have need of him today!" From the hut came cackled laughter, in a voice no longer young, From a dirty peasant woman with a saucy peasant's tongue, "You cannot take his father, lord, you did that once before. Twelve years ago, you took my husband off with you to war. That day you killed my husband," said the old and bitter crone "Since then, nor man nor weapon has this wretched hovel known." The baron said, "Twelve years it was? That's old enough, I'd say. Come, lad, and bring your pitchfork. May it serve you well today." "No, lord, you cannot take him, for my son is just a boy! Spare him, for he's all I have of comfort or of joy. What use is he in battle, overwhelmed and quickly dead? He hasn't got a weapon, just a farming tool instead." "Old woman, step aside, for we must quickly be away. It's your protection too that we must battle for today." The peasant woman cursed and screeched, and cried and cursed again, but no peasant wins an argument with scores of armored men; So when the baron rode away, one member of his band Was a lonely, frightened child with a pitchfork in his hand. The Baron was a fighter, and he knew the ways of war, The blood and death and carnage he'd seen many times before. He knew how many men must die for battles to be won, So coldly counting up the cost, he did what must be done. He led his army off to war, but never did a trace Of feeling or emotion ever show upon his face. (continued) The Baron Page 258 (continued) POEM All day the woman sat alone. She even tried to pray, but cursed, instead, the evil fate that took her son away. All day she waited for the news she knew would come that night She knew that peasant boys will die when noble men must fight. So when the night was falling, and the host again drew near The sight of it brought no relief, but only dread and fear. She knew the knights would ride on by, the battle being done, But some peasant in the rear might stop and tell her of her son. So when the mounted fighters stopped, it left her feeling weak. The baron himself, upon his charger, trotted up to speak, "Your son fought very bravely, though he had no skill or strength. He tried to fight the battle with a pitchfork, 'til at length A spearman galloped forward, taking aim at my own breast Your son jumped up and grabbed his spear, and caught it in the chest. The blow he took was meant for me. He bravely met his death defending me in battle grim, and with his dying breath Said, 'Someone tell my mother of the deeds that I have done.' So I have come to pay the debt I owe your worthy son." The widow sobbed, "As if it matters how the boy was killed!" Her screeches grew more piercing, and her curses grew more shrill The baron said, "Be silent. Stop your squeaking like a mouse. Console yourself, your son has brought great honor to your house." "Brought honor to a hovel make of sticks and caked with mud? I have no use for honor that was bought with my son's blood! If I've been so well protected, why is everything I cherished Lost to me forever, now both man and boy are perished?" No comfort did he offer, for of comfort there is none For a lonely, aged widow who has lost her only son. The baron uttered not a word and slowly turned to go No trace of joy or sorrow did his granite features show. Yes, he had won his battle, although many lives were lost His lands were once again secure, ne'er mind the grisly cost. For the Baron was a fighter, and he knew the ways of war, The blood and death and carnage he'd seen many times before. He knew how many men must die for battles to be won, So coldly counting up the cost, he did what must be done. He led his army off to war, but never did a trace Of feeling or emotion ever show upon his face. (continued) The Baron Page 259 (continued) POEM The yeomen, serfs, and peasants went back home to tend their beasts, While all the knights and nobles held a celebration feast. The baron then rewarded all his vassals, as was right And he gave out many treasures, and one man was made a knight. His duty done, the baron left his feast hall and his throne And to his castle armory the baron came, alone. Once more he found his armor, and he laid it out to see He picked his steel breastplate up, and held it on his knee. Five dents he counted on it, for five spears had struck him hard; The sixth, of course, had left no mark. That boy had been his guard. A boy who nothing knew of war, of weapons or of plate So boldly, bravely, uselessly, he went to meet his fate. The Baron was a fighter, and he knew the ways of war, The blood and death and carnage he'd seen many times before He knew how many men must die for battles to be won, So coldly counting up the cost, he did what must be done. He led his army off to war, but never did a trace Of feeling or emotion ever show upon his face. No more he moved throughout the night, while all his vassals slept And with his breastplate on his knee, the baron sat and wept.

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