And the King of the Britons was crowned with gold
And rode a stallion white.
"Oh, all men gang when they are told,
But I go not in fright.
A goodly king, who loved his folk,
And guarded them with the rod,
With stakes and gallows, against themselves,
Will surely go to God."
And the King of the Huns was capped with steel,
And rode a stallion red.
"Oh, truly proud my fathers feel
Of me who crowned my head
Halfway across a world in pain,
Which mightily I did win;
And I go home to my fathers' fane,
And not to the evil djinn."
And the King of Norway was helmed with wings,
And rode a stallion gray.
"Oh, fiercely glad my heart now sings;
Odin guests me today.
I died in bed, aye, but I hung
Full many a screaming thrall
On Odin's tree. With runes on tongue,
I gang now to his hall."
Three kings rode down to the depths of hell,
And the bloody-breasted hound
Howled as they rode where black rivers fell,
Ice beneath the ground.
Three kings a final judgment won
From the high gods' lips that day:
The Devil took the Briton, the djinn took the
Hun,
And Hel took Norroway!
All upon the middle lands the mercenary traveled.
He fought upon the mountains across the sea
Til the mountain lords they raised their voices,
said "We'll have no battle.
And we'd thank you very kindly if you'd leave
our fair country."
So out across the swarthy plains the mercenary
traveled.
He fought on deseret sands and burning seas.
Til the desert kings they cried, "No more!
No more will we give battle
ANd we would be very happy if you'd leave us
to our peace."
It's hard for a mercenary with no land to call
his own
When the world he knows no longer goes to
war.
No work for a peacetime soldier, no company
and no home.
No way to earn a penny for the poor.
Then out upon the middle seas the mercenary traveled.
He signed himself aboard a fine galley.
But the captain said, "We are merchant men, my
boy, we seek no battle,
We've a blessing from the gods who protect our
company."
So back again to his own homeland the mercenary
traveled.
To carve a hold in the mountain vastness free.
Now a highwayman, he offers every passing merchant
battle,
And a curse for the lifetime tha taught him thievery.
It's hard for a mercenary with no land to call
his own
When the world he knows no longer goes to
war
No work for a peacetime soldier, no company
and no home
No way to earn a penny for the poor.
Oh the year was 1778
How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now
A letter of marque came from the king
To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen
God damn them all
I was told we'd cruise the seas for American gold
We'd fire no guns, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier,
The last of Barrett’s Privateers
Oh Elcid Barrett cried the town
For twenty brave men all fishermen who
Would make for him the Antelope's crew
The Antelope sloop was a sickening site
She'd list to the port and her sails in rags
And the cook in the scuppers with the staggers and jags
On the King's birthday we put to sea
Ninety-one days to Montego Bay
Pumping like madmen all the way
On the ninety-sixth day we sailed again
When a great big Yankee hove in sight
With our cracked four-pounders we made to fight
The Yankee lay low down with gold
She was broad and fat and loose in staves
But to catch her took the Antelope two whole days
Then at length she stood two cables away
Our cracked four-pounders made awful din
But with one fat ball the Yank stove us in
The Antelope shook and pitched on her side
Barrett was smashed like a bowl of eggs
And the main truck carried off both me legs
Now here I lay in my twenty-third year
It's been six years since we sailed away
And I just made Halifax yesterday
For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam
Ten thousand miles I travelled
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
For to save her shoes from gravel
Chorus: Still I sing bonny boys, bonny mad boys
Bedlam boys are bonny
For they all go bare and they live by the air
And they want no drink nor money
I went down to Satan's kitchen
For to get me food one morning
And there I got souls piping hot
All on the spit a-turning
My staff has murdered giants
My bag a long knife carries
For to cut mince pies from children's thighs
And feed them to the fairies
The spirits white as lightening
Would on me travels guide me
The stars would shake and the moon would quake
Whenever they espied me
And when that I'll be murdering
The Man in the Moon to a powder
His staff I'll break, his dog I'll shake
And there'll howl no demon louder
For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam
Ten thousand miles I travelled
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes
For to save her shoes from gravel.
Late last night when the squire came home
Inquiring for his lady
Some denied and some replied
She's gone with the Black Jack Davy
Go saddle to me the bonny brown steed
For the gray was never so speedy
I'll ride all day and I'll ride all night
Till I catch that Black Jack Davy
Chorus: He rode up hills and he rode down dales
Over many a wild high mountain
And they did say that saw him go
Black Jack Davy he is hunting
He rode east and he rode west
All in the morning early
Until he spied his lady fair
Cold and wet and weary
Why did you leave your house and land
Why did you leave your baby
Why did you leave your own wedded lord
To go with the Black Jack Davy
Chorus
What care I for your goose feather bed
With the sheets turned down so bravely
Well I may sleep on the cold hard ground
Along with the Black Jack Davy
Then I'll kick off my high healed shoes
Made of the Spanish leather
And I'll put on my lowland brogues
And skip it o'er the heather
Chorus
Everyone knows someone we’d be better off without,
But best not mention names, for we know not who’s
about.
But why commit a murder, and risk the fires of
hell,
When black widows in the privy can do it just
as well.
Now, poison’s good, and daggers, and arrows in
the back,
And if you’re really desperate, you can try a
front attack.
But are they really worth the risk of being caught
When black widows in the privy need not be bribed
or bought?
So if there’s one of whom you wish most simply
to be rid,
Just wait til dark, then point the way to way
the widows hid,
And say to them, "I think you’ll find that this
one is the best,"
And black widows in the privy will gladly do
the rest.
Chorus: Singing, blow away the morning
dew,
The dew and the dew,
Blow away the morning dew,
How sweet the winds do blow.
He looked high, he looked low
He cast an under look
And there he saw a fair pretty maid
A-bathing in the brook
"Cast over me my mantle fair
And pin it o'er my gown
And if you will, take hold my hand
And I will be your own."
"If you will come to my father's house,
Which is walled all around,
Then you shall have your will of me,
And twenty thousand pound."
He mounted on a milk white steed,
And she upon another
And thus they rode along the way
Like sister and like brother
But when they came to her father's gate
So quickly she popped in,
And said, "There stands a fool without,
And I'm a maid within."
"There is a flower in our garden
We call it marigold,
And he who will not when he may
He shall not when he wold!"
The battlefield is silent, the shadows growing
long.
Though I may view the sunset, I'll not live to
see the dawn.
The trees have ceased to rustle, the birds no
longer sing.
All nature seems to wonder at the passing of
a King.
And now you stand before me, your father's flesh
and blood,
Begotten of my sinews on the woman that I loved.
So difficult the birthing, thy mother died that
day,
And now you stand before me, to bear my crown
away.
The hour is fast approaching when you come into
your own,
When you take the ring and scepter and sit upon
the throne.
Before that fatal hour, when we each must meet
our fate,
Pray, gaze upon the royal crown, and marvel at
its weight.
This cap of burnished metal is the symbol of a
land,
Supporting all we cherish, the dreams for which
we stand.
The weight, you'll find, is nothing, if you hold
it in your palm.
The burden of the Crown begins the day you put
it on.
See how the jewels sparkle, as you gaze on it
again.
Each facet is a subject, whose rights you must
defend.
Every point of light a burden you must shoulder
with your own.
And mighty is the burden of the man upon the
throne.
The day is nearly ended, my limbs are growing
cold.
I feel the angels waiting to receive my passing
soul.
Keep well for me my kingdom when my memory is
dead,
And forgive me for the burden I place upon your
head.
I prithee, an thou hast enjoyed rest and merriment whilst pausing at
the Gallery, scribe thy thoughts to the good gentle below.
songsmith@oocities.com
Scribed this 28th day of October, 1998
Except for where otherwise noted, all works and
character concepts are Copyrighted 1997
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