Ancyent Odes and Fairy Rhymes

The Rime of the Ancyent Damsel (text of 1834 – Forumshire Time) with Gloss
By Emmanuel Sailor Cockerill* 1772–1834 (Forumshire Time)    (*Actually, Anon Author, just so you know).

{{{As plagiarised straight from the internet: just so you know.  }}} 

How a Ship having passed the Line was driven by storms to the Naughty Country towards the Land of Slippery Poles; and how from thence she made her course to the tropical Lassitude of the Great Pornographic Ocean; and of the strange things that befell; and in what manner the Ancient Damsel came back to her own Country feeling rather tired.


PART I

It is an ancient Damsel,
But she droopeth not, pray thee.
“By thy bare breasts and glittering eye,
Pert and young(ish) I see.”

The Damsel’s eyes be glistening,
She smiles as wont to win;
‘Bouncy, bouncy, buddy boy,’ (says she),
‘They’ve known a bit of sin.’

She hafts him by his sweaty hand,
'There was a ship,' quoth she.
'Hold off! unhand me, bare breasted loon!'
Eftsoons*  his hand dropt she.           (* Eftoons =  'about three thirty, or thereabouts' - apparently)

She holds him with her glittering eye—
(His eyes want to tarry somewhere else),
He listens like a manly child:
‘Not bad,’ he thinks himself.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone:
‘Sit there, you freak, and hear;’
And thus spake that ancient girlie,
(He listened out of fear!)

'The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top."

("That last sounds pure Coleridge,
And word for word, or am I hazy?"
"Shut it, you silly man!
You know Old Anon’s fucking lazy!’)

“The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he!
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

(“There  he goes again,
Pure Coleridge, my red haired maid!"
“Well, you’ll needs put up with it –
He’s struggling, I’m afraid!”)

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon—'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

(“I don’t even understand that bit!”
“Yeah, Coleridge is weird by the main.
“I think it was the Era in which he lived.”
“Nah! I bet it was cocaine!”)


The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

“What the fuck is that about?”
The Wedding Guest asks (I'm quoting him verbatim).
“'tis said Coleridge was hot and cold" she tells him,
There are plenty, Sir, don’t rate him.”

("Shut it. I'm getting bored. Get on with it Anon!")

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient damsel,
Without buckie but with beer:

“And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong...”
“You personify the Storm as a man,
“But storms are female, or am I wrong?"

“With sloping masts and dipping prow,”
The Damsel growled in fierce undertone,
(Which told the Wedding Guest that he best
Leave the 'female' thing alone!)
 
“The ship drove fast, before the blast,
And southward aye we fled,
By morning my skin was dry
And my eyes sore and red.

I told the crew to look away,
I’m not best in the morning, you see,
In fact, I’m a right cranky bitch."
"I do think I do agree,

It's not hard to contemplate,
You certainly scareth me right through.”
“’tis said I’m worse than Bette Davis –
Don’t know, it might be true.

“Anyhow:
Now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold:
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts....”
“Hang on, ‘emerald’ don’t rhyme with ‘cold’
The obvious rhyme be ‘gold’?”
“Ice isn’t 'gold' you dick!”

“It could be with the sun on it,
'A cool sun tho’ golden bright.'”
“Hey! Whose fucking rhyme is this?
So shut your trap all right!

(Now where was I? Oh yes):

And through the drifts the snowy clifts,
Did send a dismal sheen:
Nor shapes of men nor breasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around:
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like boobies in a swound!”

“What the hell’s a ‘swound’, pray tell? -
And here you go again!
The last two verses were Coleridge,
You plagiaristic pain!”

“Old Anon’s the plagiarist, you dick,
Don’t blame me if he’s slack –
And as to ‘swound’ I have no clue,
That’s pure Coleridge, alack.”

Anyhoo - at length we did cross an Albatross,
Through the fog it came;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

'Oh fuckin’ God,'(that’s what we yelled)
And it ate the food it ne'er did eat,
And round and round it flew...
(“What the hell does that all mean?”
“I haven’t got a clue") ...
But the ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through! “

“Just then – or thereabouts - a good south wind sprung behind;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the damsel's hollo!”

“This just gets worse and worse!”
“I admit, in some ways I prefer Anon,
At least with some of what he writes,
You know what’s going on.

Anyhoo -
In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine."

“That was nice, I have to admit,
“But isn’t ‘Vespers’ a motor bike?
They weren’t invented way when, I fear.”
“You know, I think you’re right!

But shut it! Cease interrupting,
Lest our audience get annoyed,
What with all these diversionings!”
“Now you’re just getting paranoid.”

“Just shut it, all right,
We're nearing the end of Part One,
And honestly you’re giving me the shits.”
“Well, for me it’s hardly fun.”

“Shut up! Where was I? Oh yes –

God save thee, ancient Damsel!
From the fiends, that plague thee thus!—
Why look'st thou so?'—With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS. “

“Why?” “Why what?”
“Why did you shoot the Albatross?”
“Don't know, maybe we’ll find out in part two,
just now I’m at a loss.”

I must say Old Anon has surpassed himself this time- he has really captured Coleridge to perfection there, I didnt understand a bloody word of that!  

My method was plagiarise, plagiarise... and then plagiarise some more. I readilly recommend the method. Saves heaps of time and effort.

 

srsly that was brilliant  

((((apart from the Ancyent bit. )))))

Plagiarism of the highest and most blatant order, methinks.

I suspect Old Anon has captured an Eighteenth Century view of women and their worth according to their female attributes whether young and vibrant or not yet worn-out-a-bit, and very Politically Correctly too (apparently). You'll notice the male Wedding Guest was spiffy and blemish free, as that was only Anon being rightly respectful. Did you know that back in those days men were the arbiters of womanly worth. They could make all sorts of physical judgments about women, but not, of course, about a woman's psychological state as that had not been discovered yet. You know, because women knew their place and used makeup and hair scissors to hide the onset of aging, they contributed greatly to a man's blissful state. Grand days they was.

PART II

"The Sun now rose upon the right:
Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left
Went down into the sea."

"That was short day, Damsel red."
"Very short indeed!
We were quite near the Northern Pole,
Where days are short, you see.

"And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,
Nor any day for food or play
Came to the Damsel's hollo!"

"Are we in the North or South?
You've really lost me there."
"It's just a fooking story man,
Who the fook doth care!

Now, I had done a hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!"

"I thought it was a 'good' south breeze?"
"A 'solid' breeze not 'nice'!
You know it's confusing enough
without all your interruptions, right!

Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.

"It seems to me you've changed
the format of your verses."
"If you don't shut your yap
I'll fill the Rime with curses!

The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!

Are you happy now?
I've got back to how I started ---
Ooh pardon me!"
My God, Damsel, you farted!"

"Never mind, it's the fish you know,
There's been nothing else since Autumn,
Just hold your nose and hold your breath,
It's the only way to thwart 'em.

Now:
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon."

"What was the Sun standing on?
I never knew the Sun had legs."
"How'd you like a smashed-in head?"
"Um.. go ahead, I begs."

"Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean."

"That bits rather good, I think."
"That's why it's word for word,
Not all of Coleridge was crap, you know."
"Well, that's not what I have heard!"

"Anyhow:
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink."

"They could have lit a fire, you know,
And caught seawater steam within
a cup, a flagon or a can,
a bottle, or tobacco tin."

"Does that actually work?
If it did it would seem the answer
To sailors dying of thirst
From Europe to the Tropic of Cancer."

"I don't know, Damsel red,
Best just get on with your tale,
The Groom is making his speech,
And we haven't even reached the whale."

"The whale? What whale?"
"Moby Dick, I mean."
"You really aren't paying attention, are you."
"Of course I am, my Queen."

"Anyhoo:
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea."

"Do you mean eels and crustaceons,
And other natural sealand fauna?"
"If you interrupt just once more,
I'll punch you and not warn you!  

About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white."

"That's good, I admit that...
Ouch! Oh my poor eye!"
"You can't say I didn't warn you,
Oh you big old poof, don't cry!"

"I'm not crying, I'm a lusty lad,
I'm a man and feel no pain,
I must have something in my eye,
But please don't punch again."

"Mmm... Where was I? Oh yeah:
And some in dreams assurèd were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow."

"Who?"

"Shut it!
"And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if
We had been choked with soot."

"Shouldn't that have been 'foot' not 'root',
"I thought 'soot' rhymed with 'foot'."
"I'm not sure, I'll look it up,
But just for now, shut up you kook!"

"'Foot' don't rhyme with 'kook',
Everyone knows that!"
"Your eye is bruising up, you dick,
Would you join it with a lip swelled fat?

Now:
Ah! well a-day! what evil looks
Had I from old and young!
Instead of the cross, the Albatross
About my neck was hung...."

[Dramatic pause?]

"Go on, I'm getting interested,
Is that where the saying comes?
'An Albatross around one's neck?'"
"It is, and I tell you, it's not fun."

"Are you calling me an Albatross?
Well isn't that a little ripe?"
"Shut up, I'm now planning Part Three,
Oh cease your utter tripe!"  

brilliant twist on S.T.Coleridge ! very funny ! love it !   

Yes, and Coleridge does much of the work himself. It's amazing how easily one can pollute a famous work with a changed word here and a quick few lines of doggerel there. Anon Author might be slothful wag, but he's a wag nonetheless.  

Actually, reading back, it's funny to see lines like this:

Are you happy now?
I've got back to how I started ---
Ooh pardon me!"
"My God, Damsel, you farted!"

"Never mind, it's the fish you know,
There's been nothing else since Autumn,
Just hold your nose and hold your breath,
It's the only way to thwart 'em...."


I can almost imagine it being in the original poem now...  

It WAS Orwell, it was, he just had a change of heart ! (& then realised how he'd found a rhyme for farted, but hey, it was to late, the printers were well ahead !)

I can't help thinking his ghost still regrets not picking it up before it was sent off to the printers tho'.  

Epic literature with fart jokes... I bet PJ's agent is negotiating for the film rights as we speak! 

PART III

There passed a weary time. Each throat
Was parched, and glazed each eye.
A weary time! a weary time!
How glazed each weary eye.."

"Okay, red Damsel, I get the picture,
the eyes had a bit of bother,
weary, tired, red too, I guess..."
"Shut it - i'll give you bother!

Now:
When looking westward, I beheld
A something in the sky.

At first it seemed a little speck,
And then it seemed a mist;
It moved and moved, and took at last
A certain shape, I wist.

A speck, a mist, a shape, I wist!
And still it neared and neared:
As if it dodged a water-sprite,
It plunged and tacked and veered.

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
We could nor laugh nor wail;
Through utter drought all dumb we stood!
I bit my arm, I sucked the blood,
And cried, A sail! a sail!

With throats unslaked, with black lips baked,
Agape they heard me call:
Gramercy! they for joy did grin,
And all at once their breath drew in.
As they were drinking all.

See! see! (I cried) she tacks no more!
Hither to work us weal;
Without a breeze, without a tide,
She steadies with upright keel!

Now Wedding Guest what's going on,
For six verses now you've said no word."
"I'm keen to hear the sexy parts,
The best bits, what I've heard."

"The sexy parts? What the fuck?
What sexy parts are they?"
"The part where you take off your dress
and with all the Crew make play.

Oh red Damsel, I'm really keen,
To hear all the sordid stuff -
Mind, if you were to strip right now,
That would surely be enough."

"Well, it will never happen,
So curb your froth and flap,
There's no naughty business in this Rime
It's about a bird and other crap."

"My 'froth flap', what's with that?
It makes little sense, my dear!"
"Yes, that's half the woe with Coleridge,
Well, more than half, I fear.

But anyways:
The western wave was all a-flame.
The day was well nigh done!
Almost upon the western wave
Rested the broad bright Sun;
(And don't ask what he rested on,
The Sun rested, that's all I know,
And if you say something smart,
Your blood will surely flow!)
When that strange shape drove suddenly
Betwixt us and the Sun.

And straight the Sun was flecked with bars,
(Heaven's Mother send us grace!)
As if through a dungeon-grate he peered
With broad and burning face."

"Who is Hell is Heaven's Mother?
And what dungeon did they see?
A dungeon in an ocean, lass,
It's all quite strange to me."

"Just shut up!
Where...? oh yes!
Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud)
How fast she nears and nears!
Are those her sails that glance in the Sun,
Like restless gossameres?"

"Restless gossameres.. oh God..
Ow!
Ow! Ouch! Ow!
Alright I'll shut it!"

"Are those her ribs through which the Sun
Did peer, as through a grate?
And is that Woman all her crew?
Is that a DEATH? and are there two?
Is DEATH that woman's mate?"

"Oh fuck...
Owwww!"

"Her lips were red, her looks were free,
Her locks were yellow as gold:
Her skin was as white as leprosy,
The Night-mare LIFE-IN-DEATH was she,
Who thicks man's blood with cold."

"Now, red Damsel.. ouch!
Ouchie! Owwww! Ouuuuuch!
Okay.. okay..."

"The naked hulk alongside came,
And the twain were casting dice;
'The game is done! I've won! I've won!'
Quoth she, and whistles thrice."

"Thrice? Did she whistle like this...?
Owwwwww! okay.... okay.."

"You just don't get it, do you, you dope!
Umm.. where.. oh yes:
The Sun's rim dips; the stars rush out;
At one stride comes the dark;
With far-heard whisper, o'er the sea,
Off shot the spectre-bark...

...

...

"Go on then, ask."
"I shouldn't like to speak."
"Go on, I don't mind,
Go on, open your beak."

"Well, I must admit I have to ask,
What's a 'spectre-bark'?
Is it a thing, an idea,
a fancy of old Cole's heart?"

"Frankly, I have no clue,
But now it's out can we move on?
A really good bit's coming up -
though, of course, I could be wrong.

Mmm...
We listened and looked sideways up!
Fear at my heart, as at a cup,
My life-blood seemed to sip!
The stars were dim, and thick the night,
The steersman's face by his lamp gleamed white;
From the sails the dew did drip—
Till clomb above the eastern bar
The hornèd Moon, with one bright star
Within the nether tip...

...

...

Go on.. spit it out!"
"I refuse to speak, I'm scared.
Get on with your Rime, red Damsel,
And are we almost there?"

"No, not yet...
One after one, by the star-dogged Moon,
Too quick for groan or sigh,
Each turned his face with a ghastly pang,
And cursed me with his eye.

Yes, I know what you think,
'What does 'cursed me with his eye' imply!"
"Actually, that makes some sense,
But please don't ak me why."

"Okaaaaaay...
Four times fifty living men,
(And I heard nor sigh nor groan)
With heavy thump, a lifeless lump,
They dropped down one by one."

"While you stood counting then?
Owwwwwww!"

"The souls did from their bodies fly,—
They fled to bliss or woe!
And every soul, it passed me by,
Like the whizz of my cross-bow!

Whizz whizz whizz those souls flew,
Past my ears, through my legs,
Around my buttocks, up my dress,
They whizzed in and out my head."

"Was that last verse by Coleridge?"
"No I made it up myself,
You know, I do a bit of poetry,
When vaccuming my house."

PART IV


"I fear thee, ancient Damsel!
I fear thy skinny hand!
And thou art long, and lank, and brown,
As is the ribbed sea-sand."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment,
And 'brown'? It should be 'tanned',
Careful how you put things, mate,
See my fist! You understand?"

"I fear thee and thy glittering eye,
And thy skinny hand, so..err... 'tanned'."
Fear not, fear not, thou Wedding-Guest!
This body dropt down amid the clams,

Alone, alone, all, all alone,
Alone on a wide wide sea!
And never a saint took pity on
My soul in agony."

"I'm really confused, red Damsel,
Please don't hit me, it's but true,
If you're goin' to tell your tale
can you paint in simpler hues?"

"I'll do my best, but poetry,
Is a strange and weird way,
To tell a straight and Moral Tale,
One tends to drift and stray.

Mmm:
The many men, so beautiful!
And they all dead did lie:
And a thousand thousand slimy things
Lived on; and so did I."

"I don't think of you as slimey,
In fact, I think you a damn fine Miss."
"Oh you lovely sweet talking man,
Here, give me your lusty kiss."

The kiss was indeed long and lusty,
As the Wedding Feast proceeded,
The other guests did not notice them,
As each then took what they needed.

As to what they needed, I cannot say,
For only owls and bats ever saw 'em,
And whatever it was I'm sure it wasn't
suitable for a Family Friendly Forum.

[The Damsel - slighty hot and breathy - continues]

"I looked upon the rotting sea,
And drew my eyes away;
I looked upon the rotting deck,
And there the dead men lay."

"Is that some cryptic comment on
My late lusty hot performance?"
"Don't be stupid, it's the Rime again,
I thought you absolutely enormous!"

But shush [sweetums]

Now:
I looked to heaven, and tried to pray;
But or ever a prayer had gusht,
A wicked whisper came, and made
My heart as dry as dust.

I closed my lids, and kept them close,  
And the balls like pulses beat;
For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky
Lay dead like a load on my weary eye,
And the dead were at my feet."

"I'm sorry, red Damsel, but some things
I surely can't let pass.
'And the balls like pulses beat' ye say,
But what does that mean, I ask?"

"Frankly, I don't have a clue,
Nor would I want to discover
what vulgarity it might imply
my recent hot breathed lover!  

Where to? Oh yes:
The cold sweat melted from their limbs,
Nor rot nor reek did they:
The look with which they looked on me
Had never passed away.

An orphan's curse would drag to hell
A spirit from on high;
But oh! more horrible than that
Is the curse in a dead man's eye!
Seven days, seven nights, I saw that curse,
And yet I could not die."

"Thank God for that, red Damsel,
For I do so love thy thighs!"
"Yes - most men do,
Oh you guys, you guys, you guys!

The moving Moon went up the sky,
And no where did abide:
Softly she was going up,
And a star or two beside—

Her beams bemocked the sultry main,
Like April hoar-frost spread;
But where the ship's huge shadow lay,
The charmèd water burnt alway
A still and awful red."

"Are we getting near the end?
I wouldn't mind a drink,
And how about another kiss?"
"Is that all a Man does think?

Shut up! Listen on!

Beyond the shadow of the ship,
I watched the water-snakes:
They moved in tracks of shining white,
And when they reared, the elfish light
Fell off in hoary flakes."

"I really don't get the point
of all this imagery,
Can't you get to the part
where the whale bursts out the sea?"

"Are you back on Moby Dick?
I told you that that's not my tale -
Or by some subtle subterfuge,
Are you suggesting I'm a whale?"

"Heaven, no! I swear you're svelte,
A water sprite, an elf,
A limbre Queen! A mere waif!"
"Yes, and well formed
if I do say so myself!  

Anyhow, shut up:
Within the shadow of the ship
I watched their rich attire:
Blue, glossy green, and velvet black,
They coiled and swam; and every track
Was a flash of golden fire."

"I'm lost again, red Damsel!"
"You're not wrong there, dear Man,
But be patient I'm sure by the end,
There'll be at least something we understand.

O happy living things! no tongue
Their beauty might declare:
A spring of love gushed from my heart,
And I blessèd them unaware:
Sure my kind saint took pity on me,
And I blessed them unaware."

"Blessed who unaware?"
"I think it must be his dead men."
"Are you sure? I'm still confused."
"Both you and I, my friend.

The self-same moment I could pray;
And from my neck so free
The Albatross fell off, and sank
Like lead into the sea."

"Hurrah!" cried the Wedding Guest,
"Your tale is told: hurrah!
So now you're free and here you are,
Come on, I'll lead you to the bar!"

"Steady on! I'm not finished yet,
There is more before we arrive."
"How much more? I'm pretty bored."
"Well, I know of, at least, Part Five."

Is that some cryptic comment on
My late lusty hot performance?"
"Don't be stupid, it's the Rime again,
I thought you absolutely enormous!" - Anon


You owe me a buckie!  I spilt mine laughing at this. And you know I hate to be made to laugh.

Anon Author says: "Wonderful business, poetry (even spoofy poetry). You never know where you might end up. I have to admit poetry is easier to write when you're trying to be silly. Ideas flow better for some reason. Oh yes, and it's rather easy to straight plagiarise and/or transmit whole passages verbatim."

{{{Oh yes. I'm beginning to think Coleridge wasn't such a bad a poet neither.}}}

You can bloody well tell Anon then he owes me two drinks- one for making me laugh and spill mine, and the other for making me laugh at Coleridge. I always liked that poem- very crabbit outlook if you ask me. And not at all funny!  

Anon says he hopes to buy you those drinks one day. If only he can save the money. There being a World Recession and all.  

I'll hold him to that!  

PART V

"Oh my God!" red Damsel cried,
"What a batch of battered blue!
"I've flicked ahead, my diary says,
I'm only halfway through!"

Thinking quick, the Bride Guest said,
"Why not have a break, sweet girl?
A pint or two, a savoury,
Then you can give the rest a whirl!"

"What fine thinking you present,
You spunky Wedding Guest!"
"Aye! And if it waits 'til the morrow,
It can't be more or less."

"You know you're right,"
the Ancient Damsel replied,
"Some food, a kiss -
And whatever else that may betide! -

And after rest I'm sure I can
a better Rhyming make!"
"Not only that, we'll also give
poor Coleridge a break."  

I dont know how you do it but, I love that you do  

Ol' Anon Author told me to tell you, Azriel, that you be a darn fine woman! 'Cause, he's darnwell partial to compliments, you see.

"Just for you, sweet fair haired curtsey girl."

by Emily Dickinson.


The Teasing of the Shrew

A King one time did ply his troth
– or trothed his ply?  –
In marriage to an cranky bitch;
Some say a shrew, some say a duck,
Some say an evil witch
(on tired days when booze was short):
This man was surely pliable,
Else it would not have ever worked!

“I should like to smooth your feathers
My Love, my Turtle Dove,”
Saith he one day in Summery May,
When the grass yellowed on the earth,
As he sat shoving cream puffs down
unto his greater girth.

“You better watch what you say,
Why you fat insufferable berk!”
That’s what she said,
“You big fat head!” She added –
and it hurt!

“My feathers would not get ruffled
If you were a better man to me,
I have half an urge to crack
Your knackers with my gnarly knee!”

“What have I done to make you mad?
I only seek your good?”
“Then why do I have to clean the house
And go and cut the wood?
Every day I work so hard
To keep this house afloat,
While you sit stuffing your fatso guts
And never clean the moat!”

“I’ll have you know, I am your King,
Your Feudal Lord, your Head,
And that’s no way to talk to me
Even if your hair is red!”

“Hear you this! I have a knife,
I keep in my bodice tight!
I fondle its bone handle
As I lay sleepless in the night;

And yes, I’m thinking one night
I’ll slit your flabby neck!”
“That’s shocking news, my Turtle Dove,
Though it’s good to know, I guess.

But it proves you have a temper,
Which methinks you need to curb,
I mean, you’re a Lady of High Caste,
You don’t live in the suburbs.”

“I’d rather go and live there
And leave your oily moat to you.”
“My God, it’s worse than I knew,
You fuckin’ little shrew.”

A fight proceeded after that
A song of fists and blades was sung,
“You will never tame this shrew, my King!” saith she,
As his balls were sliced and flung!

“Go and get your knackers, King,”
The shrew then did gaily gloat,
“See them on your oily moat -
Oh! There they go!
The fucking things don’t float!”

“I have no balls no more, I see,”
Said he, and he began to mope.

“Oh you’re such a sad pathetic sight
the shrew did say at last,
“I’ll go and get your knackers back,
All you need do was ask!”

And before too long the shrew  
Threw on flippers and her togs,
And dove down into the oily moat
To rescue his fatty sprogs;

She sewed them on with hessian string,
They healed as good as new,
Even though, for several months,
His balls were black and blue.  

And now they're reacquainted
and they never ever fight,
For the King respects his Queen -
But rarely sleeps at night.  


as channelled by Wisey Banks