There was a bard in London town
who in her jest ticked off the Crown
o’re the square they hung her upside down
from atop the Tow’r of London.
A priest was called to give the rites;
they held him ore’ her by his tights
There he became afraid of heights
There on the Tow’r o’ London.
The priest was hauled back up the wall
But could ever hear the singing call
That echoed off each stoney wall
Within the Tow’r o’ London.
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
Soon came the carrion birds so black
They sat upon her hanging back
And planned to have a little snack
Utop the Tow’r o’ London.
One crow said, “Brothers, here’s a treat!
Our friend—the bard is made of meat.
Her words offend, but she tastes sweet,
here atop the Tow’r of London.”
They left her chords alone, the crows,
Picking bits off of her toes
And so the Bard’s high voice it rose
From atop the Tow’r of London.”
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
The bard could not her jesting cease
“Look at how they flock like geese
“to watch me go to final peace
“Atop the Tow’r o’ London.”
The birds they dined upon her eyes
they were not troubled by her sighs
The crowds below could watch her die
from atop the Tow’r o’ London.
The Bard made rhymes while crows did peck
a bob-and-wheel ‘bout bleeding neck.
“I could complain, but what the heck!
I’m atop the Tow’r o’ London.”
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
…“All you folk out in the crowd
“Think you not that I am proud?
“To make my best and final bow’d
Atop the Tow’r o’ London.
Ere she become a love-ed clown
the sheriff tried to take her down
but was hit with fruit throughout the town
seen from the Tow’r o’ London.
…They sent the executioner
to take the curly head from her
but alas, he was a saboteur
atop the Tow’r o’ London.
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
The sabateur was stern and hard,
but he took a shine to the curly bard.
(Did I say that sabateur was hard?)
atop the Tow’r o’ London.
The Knight from Thanet, with regret,
was sent to cease the red-haired threat
but with remorse was he was beset
atop the Tow’r o’ London.
A count was sent, with a sharpened knife
to end her song, and take her life.
Instead her took her, like a wife.
atop the Tow’r o’ London.
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
no sounds now issued from her throat
but her soul was not yet in charon’s boat
though her body tossed down to the moat
from atop the Tow’r o’ London.
The bard could swim well – like a fish
she’s fled the moat with a great swish
and the count and she both got their wish
soaked ‘neath the Tow’r o’ London.
The bard, the count, they’re on their way
and rumoring is here to stay
The crows are now acting the play
Atop the Tow’r o’ London.
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
But a bard’s voice carries far and wide
While she searched for a place to hide
Her jest still echoed clear inside,
In walls and Tow’r o’ London.
At last the noisy bard was found
They killed her dead upon the ground,
but even dead she made a sound!
echo’d the Tow’r o’ London.
Lucan’s muse, though gone away,
Her bardic tales they still do play,
the legends trace is here to stay
Haunting the Tow’r o’ London.
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
(I’ll add the list of who contributed….)
_____________________________________
(The post that inspired this, ahem, brilliant idea is this:
Plotting for Pennsic makes me think that I would have rocked at court intrigue. Except that I’m mostly transparent, and a lousy poker player. Ok, nevermind, I would totally have been beheaded or locked in the Tower of London. (Upside, there’d now be a singing ghost! What a tourist attraction!)
Ohhhhhh there was a bard in London town
who in her jest ticked off the Crown
o’re the square they hung her upside down
from atop the Tow’r of London.
The crows they sat upon her feet
they flew her stolen bits of meat
they thought her croaking quite a treat
from atop the Tow’r of London.
CHORUS
To be a bard is rather hard
varitas et cantus
to bear the weight of truth and song
can get a girl in trouble-o.
NOW – YOU ALL WRITE THE REST OF THE VERSES. I will SING IT AT PENNSIC, on WAR TUESDAY NIGHT in the STREET on ByTheWay in front of THANET HOUSE at N15 at 7:00 SHARP. Feel free to share the glory. Or torture. =) (Some of the verses may be edited a little for scansion and order. =D I swear the spirit will remain the same, and any bards harmed in the making of this song will remain so!!)
A