songs-msg - 8/30/93

SCA and medieval songs.

NOTE: See also the files: songs2-msg, SI-songbook1-art, song-sources-msg, 
sing-msg, bardic-msg, Bardic-Guide-art, guitar-art, Hornbook-art.

************************************************************************
NOTICE -

This file is a collection of various messages having a common theme that
I  have collected from my reading of the various computer networks. Some
messages date back to 1989, some may be as recent as yesterday.

This file is part of a collection of files called Stefan's Florilegium.
These files are available on the Internet at: http://www.florilegium.org

I  have done  a limited amount  of  editing. Messages having to do  with
seperate topics  were sometimes split into different files and sometimes
extraneous information was removed. For instance, the  message IDs  were
removed to save space and remove clutter.

The comments made in these messages are not necessarily my viewpoints. I
make  no claims  as  to the accuracy  of  the information  given  by the
individual authors.

Please  respect the time  and  efforts of  those who have written  these
messages. The  copyright status  of these messages  is  unclear  at this
time. If  information  is  published  from  these  messages, please give
credit to the orignator(s).

Thank you,
    Mark S. Harris                  AKA:  Lord Stefan li Rous
    mark.s.harris@motorola.com            stefan@florilegium.org
************************************************************************

HENRY  (to the tune of "The First Noel")

The first good wife that King Henry won
Was his brother's queen, Cath'rine of Aragon,
'Til thoughts of incest caused him strife
And he dumped her to marry a second wife...

  CHORUS
  Six wives he had, six wives had he-e,
  With never a thought for al-i-mon-y!

The second wife that King Henry did win
Was a well-endowed lady named Anne Boleyn,
He loved her true, she had his good word,
'Til he cut her off to marry a third...

The third good wife of King Henry was fair,
Gentle Jane Seymour who gave him an heir.
She expired soon after, King Henry was sore,
So to sooth his sad soreness he sought number four...

Lady Anne of Cleves to Henry's court went,
Though their bond was dis-sol-ved by common consent.
Lady Anne was no-o dummy, she came out alive,
Though the same can't be said for good wife number five...

Lady Cath'rine Howard was a "generous" queen,
She had "very close" friendships, if you know what I mean,
But those kinds of friendships and Henry don't mix,
So it's, "Good-bye, Sweet Cath'rine" - hello number six...

Lady Cath'rine Parr was not par for the course.
She avoided annulment, beheading, divorce...
Not because she was smart or especially fine,
It was just that King Henry dropped dead just in time...

  CHORUS
  Six wives he had, six wives had he-e,
  With never a thought for al-i-mon-y!

  Six wives he had, six wives had he-e,
  A Renaissance gentleman - real royalty!


*****
This was the second song I ever wrote in the SCA.  I hope you like it!
*****

Bertram of Bearington                         PSCHROED@drew.edu
=============================================================

From: chris@%griffon@mcc.oz (Chris Robertson)
Date: 5 Jul 91 04:11:18 GMT
Organization: Griffon Consulting

Fellow Rialtans,

I wrote this song last weekend (it's pretty much a first for me), and
thought I'd share it with you.  The musical notation at the end is the
best I can do, given ascii files -- anyone who reads music *should* be
able to write out the tune, with the correct timing (at least, I *think*
it's the correct timing -- this stuff is *hard* for me, as my formal
musical training is long long long in the past, and I never really *did*
get timing down pat anyway...)

I hope you all like it.  It is not meant to stir up trouble -- I think
myself that King and Queen is right for the pageantry and authenticity,
but do have much sympathy for those who cannot hope to crown the lord
or lady they would like to fight for, especially since I have taken up
fighter training myself.  (Also please pardon having a Princess rule
a kingdom -- "queen" would not scan...)

Yseult de Lacy

----------------------------------------------------------
                        
                        Crown Tourney
 
                Lady Yseult de Lacy  June A.S. XXVI   
 

 
In my armour all shining, with sword and with shield,
And my dear lady's favour, I'm forth to the field;
I'll swing my sword bravely, I'll smite them all down
None shall stand before me, till I win the crown.

        I'd fight for thee only, my lady, my love,
        And crown thee as Princess, my darling, my dove.
        Oh I would fight for thy honour and pride,
        And to rule our fair kingdom, with thee at my side.

The Heralds are calling, the tourney is near,
The knights all stand ready, with sword and with spear;
Soon we'll be clashing in glorious strife --
The fierce joy of battle is half of my life.

        I'd fight for thee only, my lady, my love,
        And crown thee as Princess, my darling, my dove.
        Oh I would fight for thy honour and pride,
        And to rule our fair kingdom, with thee at my side.

I fought with all honour, I conquered the field,
And bore myself bravely, to none did I yield;
But sorely it grieved me, my dear one, my own,
When they hailed me as victor, not to give thee the crown.

        For I fought for thee only, my lady, my love,
        To crown thee as Princess, my darling, my dove.
        Oh I did fight for thy honour and pride,
        And to rule our fair kingdom, with thee at my side.

But the consort beside me is a pleasant young man,
I've nothing against him, but he's not what I planned;
He'll make a good ruler, as the kingdom will see,
But thou'd have made better, my own sweet lady. 

        I fought for thee only, my lady, my dove,
        But they crowned me as Princess, and not thee, my love.
        Oh I did fight for thy honour and pride,
        And bitter 'tis to me, thou'rt not at my side.

---------------------------------------

Note values:  m = minim (double note) c = crotchet (whole note)  q = quaver
                (half note)   (cr) = crotchet rest    (qr) = quaver rest

Timing is given directly below the notes.  Dotted notes (half again normal
length) are followed by a period.  High notes are indicated by an asterisk
(e.g. C* is C above middle C).

G major, 4/4.

E    E    B  | A  G  F  E   D | E G   F   E  | E   E     B    B  B    D* |
c    c    m    c. q  q  q   c   c c   c   c    c   c     c.   q  c    m  (qr)

I'd fight for thee o-on-ly, my la-dy, my love, And crown thee as Prin-cess,

C*  B  A    G   A |  B     |  B  B  E* | E*  D*    B   B | B  A  G    A   B |
c  q   q    c.  c    m. (cr)  c  c  m    c   m     q   q   q  q  q    c   c.
my da-ar-ling, my dove.      Oh I - I would fight for thy ho-on-our and pride,

B   B    B   A |  G     F  D     D |  E  G  F E  D  E | E
q   c    c.  c    c     c  c     c    q  c. q q  q  q   m.  (cr)
And to rule this fair king-dom, with the-ee a-at my-y side.

-- 
From: jneedles@magnus.acs.ohio-state.edu (Jack L Needles)
Date: 19 Jun 91 20:57:47 GMT
Organization: The Ohio State University

I wrote this last Spring on a challenge from a lady's roommate who is quite a
bard himself....  Apologies to all my immediate heraldic superiors..
  
        Always a Herald <Sung to Always a Woman, by Billy Joel>
  
He can call you in court
And bring tears to your eyes
He can lose your device
In his casual files
And he only will read
What is in Heraldese
He draws like a child
But he's always a herald to me

He will take your device
He can pass you or fail you
You can show him your proof
But he'll never believe you
And he'll take your four copies
Along with his fee
Yeah he charges too much
But he's always a herald to me

<Chorus> 
Oh, he takes care of your name
It can wait if he wants
He is always behind
And he never gives out
He just keeps taking in
And gets further behind
  
And he'll summon you forth
In front of the kingdom
Then he casually praise you
And smile while your kneeling
But he'll shout out your name
Just as wrong as can be
Blame it all on the scribe
Cause he's always a herald to me
  
<Hum Chorus>
  
He's frequently loud
And he's seldomly clear
He cries poorly at Pennsic
For he's full of cheap beer
He can't be retired
He does it for free
And the most he will do
Is shout 'Oyez' at you 
But he's always a herald to me
  
<Chorus>
<Hum Chorus>
    
Ducking flying Armorials
Silverwolf Moonshadow
  
From: troll@morpheus.std.com (A troll of two cities)
Date: 26 Sep 91 16:16:09 GMT
Organization: R.O.A.T.

In article <1991Sep25.091521.33828@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu> 
kumagic@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu (Stephen R. Figgins) writes:
>I am looking for a song I had heard about Woad.  It has been suggested
>that I could find the words here.  I think it is sung to the tune of
>Men of Harlech.  
>
>I would appreciate it if someone would mail me the words.  
>
>Thanks
>--
>___________________________________________________________________________
>
>Stephen R. Figgins                                           Ars Humana BBS
>kumagic@kuhub.cc.ukans.edu  OR                           Humanities Support
>stephen.figgins@f104.n280.z1.fidonet.org             913 832-2727 1:280/104
>___________________________________________________________________________
> 


Fondest greetings to you all;

I know only one gentle asked (and rightly asked replies via private
mail), but this humble teller of tales finds this very amusing - so
here they are.  Feel free to ignore if disinterested, but they ARE
pretty funny.

I remain,
        Your obedient servant...and angel,
                Aleksandr Yevsha
 
  What's the use of wearing braces,
  Hats or spats or shoes with laces,
  Vests and pants you buy in places
  Down on Brompton Road?
  What's the use of shirts of cotton,
  Studs that always get forgotten?
  These affairs are simply rotten -
  Better far is woad.
  Woad's the stuff to show men,
  Woad to scare your foemen.
  Boil it to a brilliant blue
  And rub it on your legs and your abdomen.
  Ancient Britons never hit on
  Anything as good as woad to fit on
  Neck or knees or where you sit on -
  Tailors, you be blowed!
  ----
  Romans came across the channel
  All dressed up in tin and flannel;
  Half a pint of woad per man'll
  Clothe us more than these.
  Saxons, you may save your sitches,
  Building beds for bugs in britches;
  We have woad to clothe us which is
  Not a nest for fleas.
  Romans, keep your armors,
  Saxons, your pajamas;
  Hairy coats were made for goats,
  Gorillas, yaks, retriever dogs and llamas.
  March on Snowdon with your woad on
  Never mind if you get rained or snowed on,
  Never need a button sewed on,
  Good for us today!

-- 
troll@morpheus.std.com          Bring me my bow of burning gold,
troll@sug.org                           Bring me my arrows of desire...
troll@world.std.com             DISCLAIMER: Dat claimer

From: icklinck@descartes.waterloo.edu (Ian Klinck)
Date: 1 Oct 91 18:25:50 GMT
Organization: University of Waterloo

Well, here's the last filk in my collection (so far)... If I write any more
worthwhile ones, I'll post 'em. (The next 2 I've got in mind are kinda
Principality- and Barony-specific, but if they're good enough, I might
post 'em anyway... I'll see when they're done.)


"My Lady is Fighting at Pennsic"
(Rhys ap Baruch)
(Tune: "My Bonnie Lies over the Ocean")

My lady is fighting at Pennsic
Fighting in forest and field
If my lady should come a-charging
Even a brave man will yield

CHORUS:
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my lady to me, to me!
Bring back, bring back
Bring back my lady to me.

When my lady started her fighting
She picked up a shield and a sword
And after her authorization
Left a dead knight on the floor

Chorus.

My lady has bright shiny armour
With a great iron helm on her head
Many a man fought my lady
And many a man now lies dead

Chorus.

My lady has learned to fight two-stick
The Eastrealmers think it's a crime
'Cause when my lady fights two-stick
She takes them out two at a time

Chorus.

My lady has picked up a polearm
The Eastrealmers, they're in retreat
My lady, wielding her polearm
Picks them off at six feet

Chorus.

My lady will win us the battle
But the Midrealm men are alarmed
'Cause the title desir'd by my lady
Is "Queen by Right of Arms"

Chorus.

My lady is very charming
And beauteous as you can see
I can't ask for a better lady
At least that's what she tells me!

Chorus.

(The events described in this song are purely fictitious. Any resemblance to
real persons is purely coincidental... but if you know of any, warn me! ;-) )
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(c) 1991, Ian Klinck
Permission is freely given to reproduce and/or publish this work for non-
profit purposes within the Society for Creative Anachronism, Inc., provided
proper credit is given.
Permission is also given to make minor changes to the lyrics, to make the
work more appropriate for the local group. (i.e. substitute "Eastrealm" for
"Midrealm" or vice-versa)

Rhys ap Baruch, of the Cantons of Eoforwic and Bryniau Tywynnog, Barony of
Septentria, Principality of Ealdormere, Kingdom of the Middle
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

From: BERDANJ@YALEVM.BITNET (Alejandra)
Date: 27 Oct 91 03:52:54 GMT
Organization: The Internet

As requested by someone whose name I have misplaced :)

_The Queen of All Argyll_
       --words & music by A.M. Stewart (of Silly Wizard)

Gentlemen, it is my duty
To inform you of one beauty
Though I'd ask of you a favor, not to seek her for awhile.
Though I own she is a creature
Of character and feature,
No words can paint the picture of the queen of all Argyll.

(Chorus):
  And if you could have seen her there,
  Boys, if you had just been there
  The swan was in her movement and the morning in her smile.
  All the roses in the garden
  They bow and ask our pardon
  For not one can match the beauty of the queen of all argyll.

On the evening that I mention
I passed with light intention
Through a part of our dear country known for beauty and for style.
In a place of noble thinkers
Of scholars and great drinkers
But above them all for splendor shown the queen of all Argyll.

(Chorus)

So my lads I needs must leave you
My intention's not to grieve you
Nor indeed would I deceive you; oh, I'll see you in awhile
I must find some way to gain her
To court her and attain her
I fear my heart's in danger from the queen of all Argyll!

(Chorus x2)

----------

(transcribed live from the tape right this minute <grin>

I'm told by a friend that the "queen" in question is of the prettiest-country-
maiden(?)-in-the-country nature, not actual royalty.  Hence "attain her" in
the final verse.

---Alejandra


From: BERDANJ@YALEVM.BITNET (Alejandra)
Date: 1 Nov 91 11:34:00 GMT
Organization: The Internet

Greetings to all, and apologies for this waste of bandwidth....

Godfrey - my mailer has just been upgraded, and as a result, no longer accepts
the existence of your address.  (Ah, progress!)  I will not be at Baronial
Birthday this weekend, but please e-mail me again and I'll keep trying.  Here's
the lyrics you asked for.

(I'm hoping these are of some general interest, to make up for this!)

I didn't transcribe this, by the way - my roommate sings it in a folk group
and had a printed version.  (Convenient, since I don't know this song!)


"Donald Macgillavry"

Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry,
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly,
Here's to the king and Donald Macgillavry.
    Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry,
    Come like a weighbank, Donald Macgillavry,
    Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly:
    Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry.

Doanld's run o'er the hill but his tether, man,
As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man;
When he comes back, there's some will look merrily:
Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry.
    Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,
    Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry,
    Pack on your back and elwand sae cleverly;
    Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry.

Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery;
Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggary,
Bettwe it were for Whigs and Whiggery
Meeting the devil than Donald Macgillavry.
    Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,
    Come like a tailor, Donald Macgillavry,
    Push about, in and out, thimble them cleverly,
    Here's to King James and Donald Macgillavry.

Donald's the callan that brooks nae tangleness;
Whigging and prigging and a' newfangleness,
They maun be gane: he winna be baukit, man:
He maun have justice, or faith he'll tak it, man.
    Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry,
    Come like a cobler, Donald Macgillavry;
    Beat them, and bore them, and lingel them cleverly,
    Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry.

Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery;
Donald was blinded wi' blads o' property;
Arles ran high, but makings were naething, man,
Lord, how Donald is flying and fretting, man.
    Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry,
    Come like the devil, Donald Macgillavry;
    Skelp them and scaud them that proved sae unbritherly,
    Up wi' King James and Donald Macgillavry!

------

<whew>

Have fun...
                       Alejandra

Date: 7 Feb 92 
From: bryant@husc10.harvard.edu (Katherine 'Kabeta' Bryant)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Organization: Harvard University Science Center

The following gem is the work of one Kevin Wald, associate of many of the
members of the Borough of Duncharloch.  With apologies to Tom Lehrer, I
present:

                 "The Anachronism Tango"


         I ache for the sight of your sword, dear,
         And to call you milady/milord, dear,
         Let's dress like Celts
         And wear bunny pelts
         As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

         May our light be a flame, not a flash, love
         May the Pox never make us act rash, love
         Try not to laugh
         When I calligraph
         As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

         At your command 
         In armor here I stand,
         My sword is in my hand--Ouch!
         Next time, I'll hold the hilt.
         The fight is fierce
         (To quote from Ambrose Bierce).
         So long--I gotta pierce
         That guy there, in the kilt.

         I think that my cloak's out of period
         (I got the design from Lem's _Cyberiad_),
         But none can assail
         My dominant mail
         As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

         I met a Knight
         When I ate at your table;
         Or, a stag rampant sable
         Were the arms that he bore.
         And we had quite a fight
         Whether it was a wagon,
         Or (as he claimed) a dragon,
         That he drove to the War.

         We'll cook leg of lamb, not knishes,
         And try to stretch out the loaves and fishes;
         And then we'll draw lots
         For who'll clean the pots
         As we dance the Anachronism Tango.

         I'll sew a seam,
         And make my armor gleam,
         And anything you deem
         Authentic, I shall try;
         I'll brew some beer,
         And then some sheep I'll shear,
         Because it is, my dear,
         A terrific day to day to dye. (Sorry.)

         So sew me a gown made of satin;
         Speak English, pretending that it's Latin,
         Or use "thee" and "thou,"
         And "Zounds"--with an "ou"--
         As we dance the Anachronism Tango.
 


--- Gwenllian ferch Madog Llangollen                       *
    Borough Duncharloch, Carolingia                  * gobeithio *
    Katherine Bryant, bryant@husc.harvard.edu              *
  
                                             
Subj: Finnegan's Wake 
Date: 20 May 92 
From: mortonr@pica.army.MIL
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Organization: The Internet

Greetings to the Rialto!!

	There was a request on the Rialto for words to
Finnigan's Wake.  I unfortunately lost the e-mail (Bad Malcolm! Bad!)
so I don't have the gentle's address or name other than "Tent-Peg".
(How did you get the name Tent-Peg?), but here are the words:

Tim Finnigan lived in Walker Street; a gentle Irishman mighty odd.
He'd a beautiful brouge so rich and sweet; and to rise in the world 
	he carried a hod.
Now you see he'd a sort of a tippling way; with a love of liquor, Tim
	was born
And to help him on with his work each day; he'd a drop of the 
	creature every morn.

CHORUS:
Whack for the hurrah, take your partners round the floor, ye trotters
	shake,
Isn't the truth I told you, lots of fun at Finnigan's wake!

One morning Tim was rather full; His head felt heavy which made him 
	shake.
He fell off the ladder and broke his skull; So they carried him home
	a corpse to wake.
They wrapped him up in a nice clean sheet; And laid him out upon the
	bed.
With plenty of candles around his feet; And a couple of dozen around
	his head.

CHORUS

His friends assembled at the wake; And Missus Finnigan called for
	lunch.
First they laid out tea and cakes; Then pipes, tobacco and whiskey
	punch.
Then Biddy O'Brien began to cry; Such a lovely corpse did you ever
	see.
ARRAH! Tim avourneen why did you die; Ah! shut your mouth said 
	Biddy Magee.

CHORUS

Then peggy O'Connor took up the job; Arrah! Biddy says she, you're
	wrong I'm sure.
Then Biddy gave her a a belt on the gob; And left her sprawling on
	the floor.
Each side in war did soon engage; 'Twas woman to woman and man to 
	man.
Shillelagh-law was all the rage; And a row and ruction soon began!

CHORUS

Mickey Maloney raised his head;; When a gallon of whiskey flew at 
	him.
It missed and landed on the bed; The whiskey scattered over Tim.
Bedad he revives! see how he rises; Tim Finnigan jumping from the
	bed!
Crying whie he ran around like blazes; Sons of Lightning ye'd think
	I'm dead!

CHORUS

	Anyway, enjoy!

		-Malcom Douglas

Subj: Yet another filk... 
Date: 21 May 92 
From: icklinck@cayley.waterloo.edu (Ian Klinck)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Organization: University of Waterloo

Well,  I  haven't posted any songs in a while... truth is, I  haven't written 
much lately, but I do have one new one...


                          Knight Templar
            (Tune: "Paperback Writer", by The Beatles)

Say, old man, well have you seen my sword?
When the ship sets sail, I wanna be onboard
Slaying all the Moslems in the Holy Land
And I need a job, so I really want to be a Knight Templar
Be a Knight Templar!

We're going to rescue Jerusalem
And we're gonna kill all the Saracens
My coat is fashioned of the finest mail
It's a bloddy job but I really want to be a Knight Templar
Be a Knight Templar!

If you really want to, you can come along
It's the Pope's idea, so it can't be wrong
We're going to make the world safe for Christendom
It's a Holy job, so I really want to be a Knight Templar
Be a Knight Templar!

If you make it back, you'll be a hero here
If not, your pathway to heaven's clear
You'll have a martyr's ticket to Paradise
And absolution just because you're a Knight Templar
You're a Knight Templar!

It's five thousand miles, give or take a few
We'll be setting sail in a week or two
Come and slay the infidels by God's command
And take their gold and silver just because you're a Knight Templar
You're a Knight Templar!


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
(c) 1992, Ian Klinck
Permission is freely given to reproduce and/or publish this work for non-
profit purposes within the Society for Creative Anachronism, Inc., provided
proper credit is given.

Rhys ap Bledri, of the College of Skeldergate and the Canton of Schutzeheim
Principality of Ealdormere, Kingdom of the Middle
------------------------------------------------------------------------


 Yet another filk...  
 21 May 92 
From: nomad@watson.ibm.com (Lee `nomaD` Damon)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Organization: IBM T.J. Watson Research Center

In article <1992May21.161321.21556@undergrad.math.waterloo.edu> 
icklinck@cayley.waterloo.edu (Ian Klinck) writes:
>
>                          Knight Templar
>            (Tune: "Paperback Writer", by The Beatles)
(fun song deleted, go find it and read it for yourself!)

I have only two things to say to this (both from Interkingdom House of
Philkers - IHOP for short):

1)
Leaving on the crusades				Lee Damon
to the tune of "Leaving on a Jet Plane"		Stephanie Lupa
						Andrea Bon
						Jim Hopkins
						Meegan Veeder
						(C) Copyright 1992

My steed is fed, I'm ready to go, I'm standing here, outside
your door, I hate to lock you up and say good bye.
But the dawn is breakin', it's early morn. My squire's waiting, he's
blown his horn. M'lady I'm so lonesome I could cry.

	So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait
	for me. Hold me like you'll never let me go. Cause
	I'm leavin' on the crusades, don't know if I'll be back again.
	Oh babe, I have to go.

The Saracens you understand, have overrun the Holy Land, King
Richard says we have to take it back.
Every infidel, I'll kill for you, Every sword I swing, I'll swing for you.
When I come back, I'll bring the Holy Grail.

	So kiss me and smile for me, tell me that you'll wait
	for me. Hold me like you'll never let me go. Cause
	I'm leavin' on the crusades, don't know if I'll be back again.
	Oh babe, I'm scared to go.

There's so many times I've let you down, so many times I've wenched around.
I tell you now, they don't mean a thing.
Your virtue's safe, the lords will know. I've got the 
key to let you go, but only when I've come back from the war.

	So kiss me and smile for me, I know you'll have to wait
	for me. When I come back if you've been bad I'll know. Cause
	I'm leavin' on the crusades, don't know if I'll be back again.
	Oh babe, you're hard up now.

The time has come for me to leave. To teach those Arabs to believe.
So close your eyes, and I'll be on my way.
Dream about the days to come, when you won't have to sleep alone,
about the time when I'll unlock the belt.

	So kiss me and pray for me, the church will have to pay
	for me. Richard will make sure, I have to go. Cause
	I'm leavin' on the crusades, This war pisses me off a lot.
	Oh babe, I'm agnostic.

When you're 95, still belted in, don't curse me babe, we didn't win.
Call the locksmith, he can let you out.
So stand up now, I'll lock the belt. Don't complain about the welt.
Your chastity is safe for ever more.

	'Cause your stayin', here in England, faithful to me
	for all time. Don't fret, the belt won't let you go.
	I'm leavin' on the crusades, Don't think that I'll be back again.
	Oh babe, I'm gonna DIE.

2) I'll put this in a seperate post.

Christopher Thomas			mka Lee Damon
Canton of Northpass			Westchester County, NY
Kingdom of the East


Yet another filk...  
 21 May 92 
From: nomad@watson.ibm.com (Lee `nomaD` Damon)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Organization: IBM T.J. Watson Research Center

And part 2 of my rebuttal, again from IHOP:


So Long, Maids, I'm off on the Crusades                 Elizabeth Poole
  (Sung to the tune of Tom Lehrer's "So Long, Mom")     (c) copyright 1992

So long, maids, I'm off on the Crusades,
  Don't wait for me 'till then.
Don't fuss and hassle, back home in the castle,
  You'll see me again -- 
  In nine years or ten!

  Don't fret, my cherub,
  I'm off to axe an Arab,
  And maybe swipe a scarab,
    And scimitar or two!
  I'll look for you when the wars are over,
    In Thirteen Hundred Fifty Two!

Now, Little Dick the Second was a King and Christian,
  A Monarch's Mission
    Had he:
Vowed he'd never rest until the world knew his Lord,
  Or put to the sword,
    They would be!
He prayed just like you oughtta,
  Before a Holy Slaughter ...

So long, maids, I'm off on the Crusades,
  Please swear you love me, do.
(This chastity girdle, locked under your kirtle,
  Will make sure that you
  Stay true 'till I'm through!)

  Pray I keep breathin,
  And keep on hackin' heathen,
  My sword their bodies sheathin'  (--ewwww!--)
    As I fulfill my vow.
  I'll come back home, if I can still remember you
    A decade or a few from now!


Christopher Thomas			mka Lee Damon
(Formerly Laurus Mercator)
Canton of North Pass			Westchester County, NY
Kingdom of the East


From: Joe.Bethancourt@f148.n114.z1.tvbbs.UUCP (Joe Bethancourt)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: *whew!*
Date: Mon, 05 Apr 1993 10:14:02 -0700


                I'LL SEE YOUR SIX!
                        -Ioseph of Locksley
        (c) copyright 1993 W.J. Bethancourt III
           (Tune: "The Sleeping Scotsman")

 A lovely lady went one night to a revel in the East
 With dancing and with singing, with wine and Roasted Beast
 When the revel came unto an end, she started out for home
 Wrapped well in her woolen cloak, and walking all alone.

 CHORUS: The things you will run into, the people that you meet
         Walking all alone upon a New York City street!

 Now, New York City's not a place for walking in the dark
 Not in the streets and alleys and especially not the Park
 But off she went most happily, without a single care
 Wrapped up in her woolen cloak, all in the midnight air.

 A street-tough jumped in front of her, with three friends in the night
 And pulled a six-inch switchblade, that glittered in the light
 He waved it underneath her nose, and said with fiendish glee:
 "Give me all your money, girl, this is a robbery!"

 She gazed upon the switchblade, and smiled a happy smile
 Said "Boy, you ain't got any brains, and lack a sense of style!
 You're standing where I want to walk, please move out of my way!"
 The tough said "Girl, I'll cut you, and rob you anyway!"

 All wrapped up in her woolen cloak, her garb was quite unseen
 Her hands were hidden out of sight, and so was chain-mail's gleam...
 She said "Now, go rob someone else, my money stays with me!"
 He said, "I'll take your money with my six-inch snickersnee!"

 The lady's smile got bigger, the robber took a swing
 The chain-mail took the blow; the lady didn't feel a thing!
 She pulled a Kirby broadsword, the robber's soul to shrive,
 And grinned and said, "I'll see your six, and raise you thirty-five!"

 The bandit gazed upon the sword, and then upon his knife
 He turned and ran, with his three friends, a-running for his life!
 Don't think a lady's easy, don't think she's helpless prey,
 Especially if she is a fighter in the SCA!

 Now if you don't believe my song, then ask the lady fair
 With Cheshire Cat upon her shield, a blazon very rare:
 Sir Trude is her name, me lads, if she should pass your way;
 The very first of the Lady Knights within the SCA!

                           *        

                                        -Ioseph of Locksley
                                         grumpy baron


From: cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu ()
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Re: *whew!*
Date: 7 Apr 1993 16:18:34 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley

Joe.Bethancourt@f148.n114.z1.tvbbs.UUCP (Joe Bethancourt) writes:

[neat filksong]

Nice.  My daughter will love it.  Of course, I don't think it ever
_happened_ to Sir Trude--though it could've, given the opportunity--
and it did happen to Jerry Pournelle before the SCA was ever born
or thought of--but it doesn't matter.  As the old friar said of the
Gospels, "Si non e vero, e ben trovato"--if it isn't true, it's still
a good story.

Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin		Dorothy J. Heydt
Mists/Mists/West			UC Berkeley
Argent, a cross forme'e sable		cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu


From: Joe.Bethancourt@f148.n114.z1.tvbbs.UUCP (Joe Bethancourt)
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Re: *whew!*
Date: Fri, 09 Apr 1993 20:39:02 -0700

Cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.e said to All :

 Co> From: cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu ()
 Co> Path: wierius!telesys!ennews!asuvax!ncar!zaphod.mps.ohio-
 Co> state.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!agate!garnet.berkeley.edu!c
 Co> zzlab
 Co> Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
 Co> Organization: University of California, Berkeley

 Co> In article <734055438.AA00157@tvbbs.UUCP> 
 Co> Joe.Bethancourt@f148.n114.z1.tvbbs.UUCP (Joe Bethancourt) 
 Co> writes:

 Co> [neat filksong]

 Co> Nice.  My daughter will love it.  Of course, I don't think it ever
 Co> _happened_ to Sir Trude--though it could've, given the opportunity--
 Co> and it did happen to Jerry Pournelle before the SCA was ever born
 Co> or thought of--but it doesn't matter.  As the old friar said of the
 Co> Gospels, "Si non e vero, e ben trovato"--if it isn't true, it's still
 Co> a good story.

Heh! Well, since I heard the story from Trude in the first place.......I'll
have to get her to write it down. I took a little from my Poetic License &
gave her mail and a Kirby broadsword (accept no substitutes!) in the song, 
but otherwise, that's what she told me.

                                                -Ioseph of Locksley
                                                 still grumpy


From: cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu ()
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: I'll See Your Six....
Date: 7 Apr 1993 19:14:58 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley

Looking over this nice song again, I observe that in addition to the
tune that was listed, you can sing it to "The Bastard King of England."

A tune I like better... and know better... and first learned when Oscar
Brand sang to it a song about the DC-3....

Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin		Dorothy J. Heydt
Mists/Mists/West			UC Berkeley
Argent, a cross forme'e sable		cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu


From: cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu ()
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: Re: request for songs
Date: 24 Jun 1993 16:59:11 GMT
Organization: University of California, Berkeley

banshee@cats.ucsc.edu (Wailer at the Gates of Dawn) writes:

[Here's my favorite drinking song, In Taberna]

This got posted a few months back, I think, and here's my rough translation
that I posted then.


IN TABERNA

(Carmina Burana #196, s Germany, c. 1230)

In taberna quando sumus,	When we are in the tavern,
non curamus, quid sit humus,	We don't care if we are mortal,
sed ad ludum properamus,	But we hasten to play,
cui semper insudamus.	        Which is what we always crave.
Quid agatur in taberna,		What is to be done in the tavern,
ubi summus est pincerna,	Where the jug rules,
hoc est opus ut quaeratur;	This is what you have to seek,
sic quid loquar, audiatur.	But listen to what I say.

Quidam ludunt, quidam bibunt,	Some play, some drink,
quidam indiscrete vivunt;	Some live indiscreetly,
sed in ludo qui morantur,	But those who die in the middle of a game
ex his quidam denudantur,	some strip them bare.
quidam ibi vestiuntur,		Some dress in the spoils,
quidam saccis induuntur:	Some wear sackcloth:
ibi nullus timet mortem,	There no one fears death,
sed pro Bacchus mittunt sortem.	But they throw in their lot with Bacchus.

Primo pro nummata vini;		First for (wine in sealed bottles?)
ex hac bibunt libertini:	The free spirits drink from them:
semel bibunt pro captivis,	Second they drink for poor  captives;
post haec bibunt ter pro vivis,	After that they drink for the living,
    quater pro Christianis cunctis,	Fourth, for all Christians,
    quinquies pro fidelibus defunctis,	Fifth, for the faithful departed,
    sexies pro sororibus vanis,		sixth, for wayward sisters,
    septies pro militibus silvanis,	seventh, for soldiers on forest duty,
    octies pro fratribus perversis,	eighth, for fallen-away brethren,
    novies pro monachis dispersis,	ninth, for monks gone astray,
    decies pro navigantibus,		tenth, for sailors,
    undecies pro discordantibus,	eleventh, for heretics,
    duodecies pro paenitentibus,	twelfth, for penitents,
    tredecies pro iter agentibus,	thirteenth, for travelers,
    tam pro papa quam pro rege,	    As many times for the Pope as for the 
King,
    bibunt omnes sine lege.		And then each drinks as he likes.

Bibit hera, bibit herus,	The nobleman drinks, the noblewoman drinks,
bibit miles, bibit clerus,	The soldier drinks, the clerk drinks,
bibit ille, bibit illa,		He drinks, she drinks,
bibit servus cum ancilla,	The manservant drinks, the maidservant drinks,
bibit velox, bibit piger,	The swift man drinks, the slow man drinks,
bibit albus, bibit niger,	The fair man drinks, the dark man drinks,
bibit constans, bibit vagus,	The stay-at-home drinks, the wanderer drinks,
bibit rudis, bibit magus.	The ignorant man drinks, the wise man drinks.

Bibit pauper et aegrotus,	The poor miserable beggar drinks,
bibit exul et ignotus,		The unknown exile drinks,
bibit puer, bibit canus,	The treble drinks, the tenor drinks,
bibit praesul et decanus,	The prior and the deacon drink.
bibit soror, bibit frater,	The sister drinks, the brother drinks,
bibit anus, bibit mater,	The granddad drinks, the mother drinks,
bibit iste, bibit ille,		This one drinks, that one drinks,
bibit centum, bibit mille.	A hundred drink, a thousand drink.

Parum sescentae nummatae	Seven hundred jugs together
durant, cum immoderate		Will last out a huge crowd
bibunt omnes sine meta,		Drinking without restraint.
quamvis bibant mente laeta.	Let everyone drink with a glad mind.
Sic nos rodunt omnes gentes,	Thus everyone will despise us
et sic erimus egentes.		And thus we'll be cast out:
Qui nos rodunt, confundantur	Those who despise us, damn them,
"et cum iustis non scribantur".	"And may they not be written among the 
just."


Dorothea of Caer-Myrddin		Dorothy J. Heydt
Mists/Mists/West			UC Berkeley
Argent, a cross forme'e sable		cozzlab@garnet.berkeley.edu


From: David Schroeder <ds4p+@andrew.cmu.edu>
Newsgroups: rec.org.sca
Subject: SONG: Hole in the Head
Date: Mon, 30 Aug 1993 21:40:23 -0400
Organization: Doctoral student, Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, 
Pittsburgh, PA

Hi folks --

Excerpts from netnews.rec.org.sca: 30-Aug-93 Kitniyot and Bone Meal 
(was.. by hamizrachi@aol.COM 

> Oh yes, and Bertram, what about those words you promised me?)

This bit of silliness is presented for Yaakov and other interested parties.

    My best -- Bertram


HOLE IN THE HEAD          by Bertram of Bearington
==================================================
Sung to the tune of "Hole in the Wall"

If a la-dy or lord takes the path of rattan sword
Once you put'em in armor they find out
That their pulse it will quicken and their skin it will thicken
Once they put on their helms their brains fall out!
How else can you explain their curious behavior
When they pick up a stick and prance about?
Looking like they have had a few
'Cause they've lowered their I.Q.,
Once they put on a helm their brains fall out!

If a lord takes a journey, wins his kingdom's Crown Tourney,
Once he's done with the finals he'll find out,
Though his body is tired, more will soon be required,
Once he puts on the Crown his brains fall out!
Classic case of the "stupies," kings and all of their "groupies,"
Leave the "ladies in waiting" to find out
That he's not a Plantagenet,
Rather more of a space cadet,
Once he puts on the crown his brains fall out!

If a lady gets going in the habit of sewing
Once she's done with her outfit she'll find out,
That she surely will look fine if it's got a low neckline,
Once she puts on the gown her __________ fall out!
And, one plus I should mention, every male pays attention,
It can be fun to see their eyes bug out...
Lords simply watch and wait
(Pairs beat a flush or straight!)
Once she puts on the gown her __________ fall out!

If a gentle gets knighted, is his lady delighted?
Friends, I pray listen closely, please don't scoff,
For knight's ladies have oft felt with his chain and his white belt,
Once he puts on his spurs his __________ fall off!
Knights must think it's exciting, trading sex in for fighting,
Or at least that's the tale they spread about.
But I doubt its veracity,
Knowing knightly capacity,
When it's time for romance their spurs fall off!

<Insert knowing "hmmmm...'s" into the blanks above...>

<the end>
Edited by Mark S. Harris	songs-msg