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The 20 Minute Bardic Workout With two tankards or drinking horns, do 30 reps at full extension, while thanking your host profusely. 2. The Bardic Call to Battle: Respond instantly to any buffet line, being one of the first served. While bellying up to the bar, fill three large wooden plates and drinking horn while thanking your host profusely. Repeat until lacquer is worn off plates. 3. The Bardic Squat and Lunge: Sit closely to a fire and sing at the top of your lungs while inhaling enough smoke to cure a ham. When person asks for a chair, thank your host profusely and lunge for another chair. Repeat until all chairs have been sat in. 4. The Bardic Pentathalon: Book several conflicting gigs. While carrying a full tankard and a 40-lb. music book and wearing life-threatening clothing, run full tilt into a totally dark forest after sitting in front of a blazing fire. See how many wrong encampments you run into before you find the right one. After you run into your seventh tree, crawl to the nearest encampment, ask for a beer, and thankyour host profusely. 5. The Bardic Flirt and Duck/Run: Find cute person of you desire. This person will usually be attended by largest, scariest person outside of a prison movie. Flirt, duck, run. Repeat until cornered. When encampment pulls you out of the tree, thank your host profusely. 6. The Bardic Test of Manhood/Womanhood: Find the least most receptive encampment. Uninvited, sing 20 minutes of ancient Latvian Siege Yodeling, complete with "!bangi" glottal stops, while inhaling burning embers. Survive. find the nearest friendly encampment, and let them peel off the duct tape. Thank your host profusely. 7. The Bardic "Dreaded Eyebrow of Scorn": Find the most arts-oriented encampment. While surrounded completely by people wearing significant medallions and ornaments, take a request for the hardest piece of material you've barely learned. Perform, while the three people with Ph.D.'s in folklore, musicology and ethno-linguistics prepare a doctoral critique on what you did wrong. Watch as their 9-year-old daughter performs it beautifully on the harp, backwards, and blindfolded. Pick flattened ego off the ground, crawl away, thanking you host profusely. | |
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The Ballad of Sleep Wars
by Sir Cipriano d'Alvarez mka Guy L. Bradley | |
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Sir John and Mistress Rondellynn Had gaid themselves to bed When on a sudden came a call What made him raise his head "What noise is this', the wee knight cried 'That breaks our late repose Be he man or beast or evil wight I swear I'll have his nose!" In desperation came a voice O'er distance great and far, "Upon thy honor, tell me true Is the king there where ye are?" "Hold hard sir," cried the noble knight "And speak thy name to me For, baseborn knave, I grieve to say Thou hast interrupted me." "If thou had waited seconds more The deed it would be done A nonce is all that 'tis required For me to have my fun." "By holy water, sir," he cried, "Thou art no friend of mine. He who would do such evil deed Is not a man, but swine!" "Sir John I fear thou goes too far" The voice from distance cried. "Sir Robert of Hightower is The name by which I bide." "Sir Robert of Hightower, then, Woulds't thou explain to me Why thou dids't think to find the King Between my wife and me?" "Name not your pleasures now to me I'll trouble thee no more. The King is he who I do seek; Continue as before." Sir John he went before the king: "A grievous wrong is done. That man from Iron Mountain did Awaken us at one." "Be of good cheer," Orlando said. "Thou'll have thy pound of flesh." His wife just smiled quietly For a change it would be fresh. Sir Robert, he went urgently To the Baron in his hall "O aid me now, for I do fear That war's upon us all." The Iron Baron took his maps And said, "Ah, here's the key." "The first man e'er in Southdowns fair Was from my Barony." |
Then on that cold November day When the Crown Prince was declared The Baron he approached the throne And the map of the kingdom bared. "Lord King, " the Baron pointed out, "As thou can plainly see, By Ulrich's fame, I do proclaim Southdowns belongs to me." "So justice now I ask of thee For I shall have my rights; If Southdowns is not given me There shall be cause to fight." "O foul, O foul!" Sir John did cry "You claim there's cause for war If thou wilt hear my earnest plea I'll tell thee even more." "Speak up, good knight", Orlando said For he knew what would come And so Sir John he told his tale Of that eldritch call at one. The Baron then confronted John, "O tell thy tale no more. Thy petty sleep is not concern For us to fight a war." The up spoke Mistress Rondallynn For she was filled with ire 'Twas not our sleep that was disturbed, For we had not retired!" Then was the Crown Prince heard to say In a voice both deep and thick "Whoever interrupted you Must have been ungodly quick." O'er the bench Sir John did bound At the Prince's throat he went. And if he could, he thought he would There make a bloody rent. "Hold fast, good knights," Orlando cried "No blood shall fill my hall. 'Tis matter I shall settle now To satisfy us all." "Usurper, tyrant, fey and mad Are names which I've been called I now decree to Southdown's lords, Iron Mountain shall be sold." Up to the roof the cries did ring, And these cries called for war. And so the battle plans were drawn For the month we number four. So warriors, shine thine armor bright And sharpen up thy swords, For on this day shall come the fray Which we do call Sleep Wars! |
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Beowolf
(the childrens' version) by Rathfled DuNoir, the Black Bard of Meridies See Grendel. See Grendel eat. Eat, Grendel, eat. Grendel is eating a few Danish for breakfast. Grendel especially likes the ones with the yellow coating on top. This is good because there are many of them. Yummy! See Hrothgar. He is sad. Sad, sad, sad. His warriors are leaving. They are sad because Grendel has eaten many of their friends. They do not want to play with Grendel anymore because Grendel is mean. Hrothgar is also sad because his food is almost gone. Grendel eats the cows and pigs and horsies, too. Grendel is very hungry. Eat, Grendel, eat. Hrothgar is also sad because his wife sill not stop complaining. Whine, wife, whine. Hrothgar has tried to stop listening to her for three days now. Drink, Hrothgar, drink. Hrothgar is almost out of mead. Poor Hrothgar. O see Beowulf. He is big and strong and handsome. He has long Viking braids and pointy horns on his hat and a really big sword. Ooh, Beowulf, ooh! He is sailing to Denmark to visit Hrothgar. Sail, Beowulf, sail. He does not know that Hrothgar is almost out of mead. Poor Beowulf. Beowulf likes to sail. Beowulf likes to drink even more. Poor Beowulf. When he gets to Denmark, there is enough mead left for one feast. Poor Beowulf. Poor Hrothgar. Poor Warriors. Poor Grendel. Beowulf is very mad. Mad, mad, mad. Beowulf vows to slay Grendel. Vow, Beowulf, vow. He promises to do many great feats. He swears to return with Grendel's head. Drink, Beowulf, drink. Beowulf is lying very still. Is he waiting to surprise Grendel? No, he is not waiting to surprise Grendel. Is he meditating? No, he is not meditating. Is he practicing an Arcane magical ritual involving a lawn chair, six milk bottles and a tuning fork? No, he is unconscious. Won't he be surprised when he wakes up and they tell him about his promises? Won't he be happy to know that he has a quest? Won't he feel grand when the warriors cheer him? No, Beowulf will not feel grand for a while. He has a headache. Poor Beowulf. Please stop cheering, warriors. O see the castle. It is very quiet. Is it quiet because everyone is afraid of Grendel? No, it is not quiet because everyone is afraid of Grendel. Is it quiet because everyone is afraid of Beowulf? Yes, it is quiet because everyone is afraid of Beowulf. Beowulf has had a very bad headache for three days. Last night, Beowulf's head hurt so much that he was very mad. Mad, mad, mad. Grendel came over to play and made too much noise. Beowulf was very upset. Beowulf was so upset that he ripped Grendel's arm off and hung it over the door. Poor Grendel. Poor warriors. Smile at Beowulf. Just do it quietly. O see the feast hall. It is bright and cheery. There is food on the tables and mead in the horns and a great big arm over the door. They are singing and laughing and drinking. Are they happy that Grendel is dead? Yes, they are happy that Grendel is dead. Are they happy that they can laugh and sing and play again? Yes, they are happy that they can laugh and sing and play again. But most of all they are happy that there is more mead. Drink, Beowulf, drink. O see Hrothgar. He is happy. Happy, happy, happy. Is he happy that Grendel is dead? Is he happy that there is more mead? Yes, but he is mostly happy because his wife has stopped complaining. Smile, Hrothgar, smile. O see Grendel's mother. She is sad. Sad, sad, sad. Is she sad because Grendel is gone? Is she sad because her other children never call? Is she sad because the Angels are losing again? Yes, she is sad because of all these things. But she is mostly sad because she won't get any more mother's day presents. This makes her mad. Mad, mad, mad. She gets so mad that she decides to have some Danish for dessert. That is silly. Everyone knows that you are supposed to have Danish for breakfast. Silly, silly, silly. In fact it is so silly that we think that Grendel's mother may have had something besides food for dinner. We think that Grendel's mother may have been drinking. Just like Beowulf. O see Beowulf. Now that there is mead again he is drinking some more. Drink, Beowulf, drink. When Grendel's mother comes to the feast, Beowulf has already drunk quite a bit. So has Grendel's mother. He thinks she is the most beautiful woman in the world and makes a pass at her. Pass, Beowulf, pass. She is caught off guard and says no. Tease, monster, tease. Beowulf tries again. She leaves and he goes home with her. Grendel's mother was never heard from again. Beowulf was very quiet about the whole situation. Quiet, quiet, quiet. The End. | |
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Cois na Teineadh
by T.W. Rolleston
Where glows the Irish hearth with peat There lives a subtle spell... The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, The moorland odours tell Of white roads winking by the edge Of bare, untamed land, Where dry stone wall of ragged hedge Runs wide on either hand. To cottage lights that lure you in From rainy Western skies; And by the friendly glow within Of simple talk, and wise, And tales of magic, love or arms From days when princes met Too listen to the lay that charms The Connacht peasant yet, There honour shines though passions dire, There beauty blends with mirth-- Wild hearts, ye never did aspire Wholly for things of earth! Cold, cold this thousand years-- yet still On many a time-stained page Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, Burn on from age to age, And still around the fires of peat Live on the ancient days; There still do living lips repeat The old and deathless days. And when the wavering wreaths ascend Blue in the evening air, The soul of Ireland seems to bend Above her children there. | |
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Duck Tape Documentation
by Ceara ni Neill mka Alexandria Long No one knows for certain the exact date that duck tape was invented, but archeological finds of Bronze-Age artifacts have proven that is has been around much longer than originally thought. It is surmised that the early people of Gaul wove the sinews of ducks into long ribbons, which turned to a dull gray when cured. Sometimes the sinews were dyed with woad and woven into a plaid. One side was brushed with a sticky paste made from fish scales, producing the ancestor of our modern Duck Tape. As it is today, Duck tape was used for everything and was as valuable and commonplace as ale or mead. So to those who would make use of this wonderful stuff, be ye not reluctant and rest your conscience. Of course it's period! | |
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| Faire Opening, Faire Closing used at the California Renaissance Faire | |
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Faire Opening
Awake! Awake! The day doth break Good craftsmen open your stalls come greet the light Shake off the night The faire is open to all! |
Faire Closing
Good craftsmen rest your weary voices Put your wares away Good travelers make your final choices Come not the end of the day As the daylight dies like a rose The faire must come to a close As the sun deserts the sky We bid you good people good-bye. |
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Lest We For Love
by Robert Fitzmorgan
To see you now my heart would burst, For I have loved you from the first. My lady, I must go away Lest we for love should love betray. With all my heart I've served your lord Since I was knighted by his sword. Near you I can no longer stay, Lest we for love should love betray. Our love it is a dreadful sin Yet still I have this love within For it to end I daily pray Lest we for love should love betray. I stood with him when my lord wed And heard the vows you and he said. Hold fast to what you pledged that day Lest we for love should love betray. My lady I must leave you now For I'd not have you break your vow. Our parting I cannnot delay Lest we for love should love betray. | |
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Lutefisk and Yams
by THL Ulf Gunnarsson
filk: Green Eggs & Ham
Hark and ware, oh Warrior! Weird of Swen now hear you. How good Lars he harried, Pestered with questions. Late at meadhall light burned; Lars did strive to largen Belly with a bowl of Boiled fish his mission. And some chunks of chicken, Cheese and bread and peasoup, Finally pounds of pancakes Paired with lingon berries. Smallish snack he snuck while Woozy wife lay snoozing. When inside there wandered Forth a fellow northman. Lars did greet him greatly For he knew the gruesome Tales of host who hasten Travellers forth from doorstep. Lars did ask his name then. "I am Sven," he mentioned. "Sven I am," he stated. "Do you like lutefisk and yams?" "Nay" said Lars, "though largely Like I food most goodly, but I do not like lutefisk and yams, I do not like them, Sven I am." "Ah," said Sven most sagely. "Would you eat them on a trip? Would you eat them on your ship?" "Nay," said Lars, "though largely Like I food most goodly, but I would not eat them on a trip. I would not eat them on my ship. I do not like lutefisk and yams, I do not like them, Sven I am." "Ah," said Sven most sagely. "might you eat them on a raid? Might you eat them with a maid?" "Nay," said Lars most strongly, "Like I food most goodly, but I would not eat them on a raid, I would not eat them with a maid, I would not eat them on a trip, I would not eat them on my ship. I do not like lutefisk and yams, I do not like them, Sven I am." "Hmmm," said Sven, "Good fellow, would you eat them on the field? Would you eat them off your shield?" "Nay," said Lars most wrothly, "Like I food most goodly, but I would not eat them on a raid, I would not eat them with a maid, I would not eat them on a trip, I would not eat them on my ship, I would not eat them on the field, I would not eat them off my shield. I do not like lutefisk and yams, I do not like them, Sven I am." Sven then looked most crafty. He then slyly stated: "Would you eat them served up cold? Would you eat them if I paid you gold?" "Well," said Lars, "since largely, Like I food most goodly ... I might like lutefisk and yams, I might like them, Sven I am." Sven produced this Swedish yam and lutefisk sample. Lars did test this tasty Treat then longly pondered. Stoutly, Lars then stated: "I despise lutefisk and yams. I despise them, Sven I am. I will not eat them served up cold. I will not eat them if you pay me gold. I will not eat them on the field, I will not eat them off my shield. I will not eat them on a raid, I will not eat them with a maid, I will not eat them on a trip, And I will NOT eat them on MY ship! I do not like lutefisk and yams, I do not like them, Sven I am." And he slew Sven. | |
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Maids in Trades
Come all of ye trades and ye tradesmen And let ye be wise that are fools But remember each day That your trade would decay If a maid didn't look to your tools. The blacksmith, the smokey old blacksmith He's known as a jolly old fellow But his iron would burn old And his fire would grow cold If a maid didn't blow up the bellows. And then there's the candlestick maker, He works up the tallow so quick. But his craft would be marred And the works not get hard If a maid didn't hold up the wick. The ploughman, the jolly old ploughman He follows the plow in the silt. But it's ne'er a clod turned If a maid hadn't learned him To drove the blade up to the hilt. The brewer, the jolly old brewer He maketh a very fine ale. But his brew would be waste If there's no maid to taste And make sure it doesn't' go stale. So come all of ye journeymen, craftsmen And all who are apprenticed to trade For it's never a srcew Or a nut would be turned If it weren't for the help of a maid! | |
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The Man Who Wouln't Die
by Sir cipriano d'Alvarez mka Guy Bradley I've armored up a thousand times for Country and for King And many's the tale that I could tell Or song that I could sing. I've fought in Beltane's driving rain And struggled for each breath; At Salt Wars and Oleno where We damn near froze to death. I've had my share of bruises and I've watched the arrows fly, But the strangest thing I've ever seen Was the man who wouldn't die. He stood a tow'ring seven feet A giant among men. His armor was of twelve-gauge steel His hide it was of ten. From a land most far away he came, Their champion and King, And many crafty ways he had To make your helmet ring. The battle lines they soon were joined And much to my surprise, I was locked in single combat with The man who wouldn't die. We circled round a time or two Then I opened up the show With an underhanded wrist shot which Is still my favorite blow. He didn't even try to block, Just brought that great sword down And split my helm completely from The chin up to the crown. And thought my sword was still entrapped In the dent made in his side, "What a mighty Knight" his people cheered "Is the man who wouldn't die." Full four and twenty fighters fell Before his awesome might, And though many blows did land it seems That every one was light. The battle soon was over and By God's own blood he went Off to the sides to doff his gear And hammer out the dents. The second battle soon began And I took another try, Bearing a sword named "Rhino's Bane" For the man who wouldn't die. For "Rhino's Bane" was a special blade Immortals for to cow. And if he had not felt those blows He'd damn well feel one now! Three feet of rattan I center drilled Then hollowed out the head And filled that hole with six or maybe Seven pounds of lead. A single shop was all I'd get; I raised that sword on high, And buried it within the helm Of the man who wouldn't die. He didn't even bat an eye Just calmly struck me down, And then went on to clear the field Of Squires, Knights and Crown. I pondered why this man was not A'stretched out on the dirt; I guess a head shot does no good With nothing there to hurt. The third engagement was delayed To give the chiurgeons time To pry the sword from out the head Of the man who wouldn't die. A battle deep within the woods Was the last fight of the day And the men remaining on my side Went on their knees to pray. "Oh Lord, if you care for us, Allow your moon to fall, Upon this man for that would be The only blow he'd call." But as we marched atop a hill A plan occurred which I Thought maybe could lead to the death Of the man who wouldn't die. Upon this hill there lay a stone A full six feet in girth. "Oh gather round my fighters bold We'll bring this man to earth! Ten stalwart lads I need with me to Strike the final blow, While the rest shall keep behemoth here Occupied below. And when he stops to fight you From up above will fly This boulder full upon the frame Of the man who wouldn't die." It happened just as I foresaw From out the woods he ran And stopped there right below us as According to the plan The men below fought bravely while The men above did strain To send that boulder from the hill Onto his alleged brain. At last the stone it stirred to life And with a final pry, We sent that boulder on its way To the man who wouldn't die. Knocking trees to left and right That fearsome missile sped And with a final bounce it came To rest upon his head. His arms and legs were all that we could see beneath the stone. But when we came from atop the hill We heard our victim groan. Astounded, round bout we stood As day bled into night, And heard him say one final time: "My Lords, that blow was light." | |
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| The Mightiest Weapon Once upon a time, in a land far, far away, there was a King who was growing bored after a feast one night. He decided to hold a contest of who at the court had the mightiest "weapon". The first knight stood up and proclaimed that he had the mightiest weapon. He pulled down his pants and tied a 5-pound weight around himself, but the weapon did rise. The crowds cheered, the women swooned, the children waved multi-colored banners and the minstrels played appropriate music. Another knight stood up and called out that he had the mightiest weapon. He dropped his pants and tied a 10-pound weight to himself, yet the weapon rose. The crowds cheered, the women swooned, the children waved multi-colored banners and the minstrels played appropriate music. After several more knights tried to prove their superiority, successively tying heavier weights, the king finally spoke out. "I have the mightiest weapon of all." He dropped his pants and tied not a 10, not 20, not even 30, but a 60-pound weight to himself. The weapon doth rose. The crowds cheered, the women swooned, the children waved multi-colored banners and the minstrels played "God Save the Queen". | |
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My Love Come Late in Life
by Aislinn
Oh, my love come late in life, Who for a time is mine There's not a rose blooms by itself But others round it twine. You came and took me by the hand And fair you spake my name; And fair you looked into my eyes And I to you the same. We walked in gardens of the sun And danced the circle gay The moon she sent her blessings down, And likewise did the day. Oh, Lady, bless this bed of love Whereon we two do lie And may our souls cling hand in hand Far past the day we die. And glad I am the pact was made And glad the deed was done No matter in whose arms you've lain We still will be as one. Go take the lady you must claim, Go take her by the hand Our love is for another life, Live this one as you can. Oh, my love come late in life Who for a time was mine There's not a rose blooms by itself But others 'round it twine. | |
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No Lady
by Dierdra Mulleabhar mka Debra Eccles I am no lady born, I am the child of a hungry serf. But I am fair or so men say, And so they came to me for mirth. They had their way and left behind A cold and lonely heart, So I asked for coins and jewels and such Before they could depart. I had a little bag I hid Where never man could see, And in this bag of mine I stashed My coins and my jewelry. With passing time, my hoard it grew Till I had a sufficient sum To buy a house and pretty clothes. I knew leaving time had come. So I moved to another land My identity I hid And there it was I quickly found Lords to do as I would bid. They no longer had their way with me, For they thought me a lady fair And I hid all I'd done from them. No secrets did I bare. A noble knight, a handsome lord Whose heart did for me yearn Spoke of marriage. I said "Yes." He had his will in turn. I am a good and loving wife To all the world it seems. And for myself? I now have found A little of my dreams. Yes, I will be so good to him That he will think it love, But I will not give my heart to him, For by the stars above; If I gave my heart to him, I might tell him of my youth; And I would lose what I have gained If I told him the truth. Yes, you may think me cold; You may think me unkind. But life is as it is for me, And I return just what I find. | |
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Out of Sight, Out of Mind
by Barnabe Googe, 1563
The oftener seen, the more I lust. The more I lust, the more I smart. The more I smart, the more I trust. The more I trust, the heavier heart. The heavy heart breeds mine unrest. Thy absence, therefore, like I best. The rarer seen, the less in mind. The less in mind, the lesser pain. The lesser pain, less grief I find. The lesser grief, the merrier I. Therefore, I wish thy sight to fly. The further off, the more I joy. The more I joy, the happier life. The happier life, less hurts annoy, The lesser hurts pleasure most rife. Such pleasures rife shall I obtain, When distance doth depart us twain. | |
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Paddy's Song
by James Treebull
(with modifications for the SCA) Milord, I write this note for to tell you of my plight And at the time of writing I am not a pretty sight. My body is all black and blue; my face, a deathly grey And I write this note to say why I'm not on the wall today. While working on the castle wall, some bricks I had to clear. For to throw them down from off the top seemed quite a good idea. But the bailiff, he would not agree, him being an awful sod He said I'd have to cart them down the ladder in my hod. (hood) Well, clearing all these bricks by hand, it seemed so very slow So I hoisted up a barrel and secured the rope below. But in my haste to do the job, I was too blind to see That a barrel full of building bricks is heavier than me. So when I untied the rope, of course, the barrel fell like lead And clinging tightly to the rope I started up instead. I shot up like an arrow, and to my dismay I found That halfway up I met the bloody barrel coming down. Well, the barely broke my shoulder as toward the ground it sped, And when I reached the top I banged the pulley with my head. I clung on tight, though numb with shock from that almighty blow, While the barrel spilled out half its bricks some forty feet below. Now when the bricks had fallen from the barrel to the floor, I then outweighed the barrel, so I started down once more. Still clinging tightly to the rope, I raced towards the ground. And I landed on those broken bricks that lay scattered all around. While as I lay there moaning, I thought sure I'd passed the worst But when the barrel hit the top, 'twas then the bottom burst. A shower of bricks rained down on me. I didn't have a hope And in the great confusion, I let go the bloody rope. Well, the barrel now was heavier and it started down once more And it landed right on top of me, as I lay there on the floor. It broke three ribs and my left arm and I can only say I hope you understand why I'm not on the wall today. | |
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The Priest
by Mikal Hrafspa
...as conveyed from the SCA minstrel list, at a time I do not remember:
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Up from the town Wailing their tears Seeing their husbands Slain on the field The cries of the wounded Sobs of the women Death came to many Dirges were wailed I stayed by my friend Who slew on the field On the still living And their souls lingered Sagas I sang The silver of poets To summon valkyries Victorious again It was near sunset A young priest stopped And listened a while In wonder at songs He came to the side Catching the shoulder Gently he looked And grasped at his pouch Each time he touched Prayers from the text Words long remembered Making deep scars All of that darktime Fending off death From this great Norseman Treating as friends Just before dawn Kund breathed deeper I called the priest Why he had pity How can I turn All life is truth I was a student To slaughter our Abbot But I have read His sins are removed His road is short He should be swift With them was a man Son of a merchant His was the spear For many seasons I saw your eyes You know the sermons 'Give peace to your foes' Remember this priest The priest walked away For his own people I carried my friend In the van of the king But in the silence A son of two fathers Must the first one die Paths I must cross Here I must choose |
women were trudging tearing their hair finding their sons to rot in the sun whirled in the wind and whispers of breath relief to the dying and graves were dug to ward off the foes or ravens that fed while their breath labored clutching at life songs of the heroes on Kund I spent to take him to Vallhalla my valiant friend while I was singing hearing the sagas waiting in silence that blended with wails of the fallen Kund of his companion at the wounds gaping to gather some herbs each time he tended he whispered each time deep in their meaning in my memory the priest kept this duty with prayer and drug his people's foe the ones they had fought death passed them by he would not die to answer this poet on this great Pagan when prayers I sang Christ gave his sons that was his prayer. perhaps that is good. from the teachings of Patrick? all is a treasure when Vikings did sail and carry off silver. our Abbot did mention raised by our monks that slew our dear Abbot we willed him to Satan! the holy writ by the holy road and will end soon to choose who he serves saving his prayers crying in pain and gently laid Kund and kept him quiet I knew the secret a servant of two faiths for the other? gone without a trace and in choosing face |
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A Sonnet
by Yaakov ha Mizarachi
"Written for my lady on a pleasant day in March..."
Spring suits her best. Though fair in any season, It seems her beauty and her blushes blossom Just after winter's rest. Is that the reason? Her shining spirit, chilled by winter's gloom- Perhaps doth sleep though winter's bitter night. Then, warmed by gentler days and fragrant breezes, Her shining smile awakes; its joyous light, Bright in her blue eyes, dazzling as it pleases. Or is it rather my own sense that sleeps, Appreciation dulled by cold and dark? My eye that dormant lies, as winter keeps My heart in hibernation 'til spring's spark Reveals what always lay before my eyes- A love that ever blooms and never dies. | |
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| The Trapper An old farmer was sitting outside his cottage one day, watching the grass grow, when a young peasant boy came by carrying a bundle of wire. The farmer called out, "Wherefore the wire, boy?" The lad replied, "This isn't plain wire, it's chicken wire. I'm off to catch chickens for the kings' table." The farmer said, "Silly boy, you can't catch chickens with chicken wire!" The boy ignored him and went on his way. Several hours later he returned carrying a dozen chickens all bound in the chicken wire. The farmer scratched his head, amazed, but said nothing. The next day, the farmer noticed the boy passing by again, this time carrying several rolls of tape. He called out, "Wherefore the tape, boy?" The lad replied, "This isn't plain tape, it's duck tape. I'm off to catch ducks for the kings' table." The farmer said, "Silly boy, you can't catch ducks with duck tape!" The boy ignored him and went on his way. Several hours later he returned carrying a several ducks all bound in the duck tape. The farmer scratched his head, even more amazed, but still said nothing. The next day the farmer saw him yet again, carrying a stick. "Whither with the stick, boy?" called the farmer. "This isn't a plain stick, it's a pussy willow," explained the boy. Saith the farmer without hesitation, "Wait, let me get my hat..." | |
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The Twelfth Knight
by Duke Sir John the Bearkiller
Twelve knights they rode upon the land, On horses strong and lean Eleven belts were old and grim The twelfth was young and green. The youngest knight was newly made Eldon was his name He traveled with the elder men To earn both blade and fame. Barely tall and eighteen years Sworn new to belt and chain, He strived to all, like these men, And live as evil's bane. They tired then, as sunset came And shelter now, their quest Into a peasant's yard they rode And demanded all the best. Eldon watched as the peasants bowed And hurried to and fro To serve the noble knights requests And ward away their blows. Eldon could not understand How the treatment was deserved; To beat the peasants, these lowly folk, Who had only meant to serve. A comely daughter of the house Was grabbed and tossed about. Her brother tried to stay their hands Was beaten, called a lout. Eldon stood and drew his sword And as he freed the maid, Knocked down Sir Karl and said quite low, "The next one tastes my blade." "How can you, all sworn to truth Treat this kindness such? Perhaps you've taught me all too well For I find this way too much. "I'll take my sword and leave you now To find my chivalry For noble birth is no excuse For lies and hypocrisy." | |
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The Unquiet Grave
by Thomas Bordeaux
The wind doth blow today my love And a few small drops of rain I never had but one true love In a cold grave she was lain. I'll do as much for my true love As any young man may I'll sit and mourn all at her grave For a twelve month and a day. The twelfth month and a day being up The dead began to speak Saying, "Who sits weeping on my grave And will not let me sleep?" 'Tis I my love sits on your grave And will not let you sleep For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips And that is all I seek. You crave one kiss of my clay-cold lips But my breath smells earthly strong. If you have one kiss of my clay-cold lips, Your time will not be long. It's down in yonder garden green Love, where we used to walk The finest flower that e'er was seen Has withered to a stalk The stalk has withered dry, my love So will our hearts decay. So make yourself content, my love 'Til God calls you away. | |
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The Viking's Christmas Carol
by Guy Bradley filk: T'was the Night Before Christmas Twas the night before Christmas and all through the hall Not a creature was stirring, not warrior nor thrall. The Vikings lay scattered about on the floor With visions of pillaging, looting, and more. And I in my curaiss, my greaves and my helm Was drunker than anyone else in the realm. I fell up the stairs and collapsed into bed While four quarts of mead were ablaze in my head. When down from below came the sounds of a brawl, So I grabbed up my axe and ran down to the hall. I missed the last step and crashed down in a heap, Thinking "Why can't those lowlifes downstairs go to sleep!" When what to my hungover eyes should appear But two brawny strangers with mallet and spear. I said to myself, "We'll soon have them beat" When I noticed ten warriors laid out at their feet. I let out a yell and leapt into the fray. I'll always regret the poor choice that I made. The one laid his hammer up the side of my nose, And up, up, up to the rafters I rose. Then came a lone, frightened voice from the floor, "Those are no mortal warriors, that's Odin and Thor!" They looked at each other. They said, "Battle's done." Now they know who we are, it is no longer fun. Thor raised his hammer, his elbow he bent And with a loud crash, through the ceiling they went. I crawled though the hall and flung open the door Not sure that I really had seen them before. With the snow bathed in starlight, the moon like a gleed I saw them ride off on an eight-legged steed. And I heard them exclaim as they rode out of sight, "To hell with Christmas, we just love a good fight!" | |
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Vivat, the Dream!
by Warjina Waleska Katzjmjr ©1992 Varina Suellen Plonski The Known Worlde remembers mid laughter and tears The dream we've been dreaming for twenty-five years And in celebration, we gather as then To be certain the Dream comes alive once again Chorus So sing "Vivat! The Dream!" May it live long In hearts and in poetry, story and song For all men need a dream, as we all ken And each time that we gather, we dream it again. Oh chivalry, courtesy, honors and love Are ideals that we cherish, all others above Ideals are a fire in the hearts of all men And each time that we gather, we live it again. Each Lord needs a Lady to strengthen his arm Each Lady a Lord for to keep her from harm Tis love and the Dream bring together all men And each time that we gather, we live it again The Known Worlde remembers mid laughter and tears The dream we've been dreaming for twenty-five years And in celebration, we gather as then To be certain the Dream comes alive once again | |
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The Wager
My lady and her maid Upon a merry pin They made a match at farting Who should the wager win. Joan lights three candles then, And sets them bolt upright With the first fart she blew them out With the next she gave them light. In comes my lady then, With all her might and main And blew them out And in and out And in and out again. | |
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With Honor Clear
by Alvero Diogo
My heart pours out upon this page, to Atlantia so fair And to the one who on this day With lordly might Shall earn the right To the Crown with honor clear But first the blood will start to flow and the ladies' tears The clash and crash of weapons ring As many fight For the right To the Crown with honor clear A warrior knows Death's boney grip is always terribly near And only one shall shine today Burning bright With the right To the Crown with honor clear So to the one who stands his ground and fights without a fear I shall serve with reverence and with song I bow to your might Your noble right To the Crown with honor clear | |
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The Witch, the Bagge and the Bishop
from Handlyng Synne
There was a witch, and she made a bagge A belly of leather, a great swagge She conjured this belly bagge That it went and sucked mans cattle At evening and at the morning time In their pasture, or else where beside Long it went about and faste Until it was perceived at the laste. Then all goode men of the towne, Before the bishop did her summon They did also bear the bagge with her To see what she would answer to. It was shown before the bishop How she got such a milk-sop Through witchcraft and misadventure, To suck their cattle in their pasture. The bishop marveled and the others did more That how she might make the bagge go Dame, said the bishop do thy conjuring And let us see how it shall ryse This witch here did a charm begin to seye The bagge rose up and began to move The bishop "This we have seen; Do it now, to lye still again." The witch did alle at hys will She made the bagge again, stand still. The bishop made the clerk to write All she said, and did, in detail. And all how she made the bagge here go. The bishop then got the written extract Then said the bishop "Now shall I As thou has done do thy conjuring." The bishop began the charme to read. And as she did, he did indeed He said and did in every detail Right as she did he did as welle. The bagge stayed as still, it did not move For him it rose not off the floor. Why! He cried, does it not rise? I have done all your little ways. And said the words, no less or more Why will it not leave the floor? I've conjured just as you would do Why for me will it not move? Nay said she, why should it move? You do not believe it will as I do! Would you believe the words as I do And it will go and suck a cow He said "Then all I faileth in is faith?" She said "That helpeth all my works!" And so it is oure lawe, Belief is more than the sawe For thou may'st say what thou wilt But if thou believe it, or else is all spilt. Alle that I said I believe it well! My belief hath done the deed in all detail The bishop commanded that she should not Believe the work that she had wrought. And as such made an end on it. Here now we wyte believe will make There the words no might may take. The bishop sayde the words each one But believe therein had he known No more shall it avail thee That believest not there where belief should be. | |
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