Jake and the Baroness
After a story told by Brigid Caileen of the Moors at Corrido del Gatos AS XXXVII (when she was a Countess)
In Sea March Shire there lived a lord,
Whose Christian name was Jake.
He brandished well a supple sword,
For Jake did play the rake.
He wooed and won the ladies fair,
Oft two or three a day.
His manner was so debonnair,
He played so sweet a lay.
Nearby there ruled a Baron grim,
A jealous man and strong.
If any man dared challenge him,
He would not live too long.
The Baroness was well endowed,
With noble wit and charms.
She also was quite well endowed,
Between her shapely arms.
One Tourney day the Baron vied,
His Lady watched him proud.
The clamor rattled treetops high,
When cheered the noble crowd.
A hornet’s nest high in a tree,
swayed to the south and north.
Not pleased at all to shaken be.
The angry bees poured forth.
One of the angry insect horde,
Flew to the Baroness.
Her frightened face it quite ignored,
And hovered o’er her dress.
The Baroness was white with fear
The wand'ring wasp went down.
It buzzed quite near, its object clear,
The bosom of her gown.
She grasped her dress in manner lewd,
“I have an allergy!”
“My everlasting gratitude,”
“to any who’ll save me!”
Resolved to see this duty through,
Jake stepped forth with a grin.
He gave her just a little leer,
Then plunged his right hand in.
The lady’s eyes went very wide,
Her mouth a little “o”,
As right inside that white divide,
Jake plumbed the depths below.
The Baron in full armor clad,
Turned now to see his wife.
He goggled at the saucy lad,
About to lose his life.
With face all flushed and beefy red,
The outraged Lord let fly.
“What are you at?” the Baron said,
“Speak now, before you die!”
Jake’s foolish grin showed all too plain,
He’d reached the Promised Land.
But then he winced a bit in pain,
And hauled back up his hand..
Silence gripped the watching crowd,
The Baron’s sword was high.
To swift avenge his wife he vowed.
Jake’s doom was now a’nigh.
Jake straightened up in
manner grand.
A nobleman was he.
He slowly opened up his hand
That held the stinging bee.
Jake lived to see another day,
By acting courteously.
A wasp’s sharp sting was all his pay,
For a priceless memory.
If you’d cuckhold a jealous man
Right beneath his nose.
Pretend you’re reaching for the thorns
When going for the rose.
by
Lady Eridani of Alrewas
December of AS XXXVIII