Standing tall on bended knee the Squire, in peasants clothes,
Asked the maiden to marry him as she skipped by in repose.
‘Marry you? Forsooth, she said. ‘I cannot be your bride,
It is said that you prefer young men to walk close by your side!’
‘Fear not sweet maid those days are gone I am no more that way,
The witch who cast a spell on me died just yesterday.’
‘She thought she was safe in hiding but I soon found her lair,
See, here is a bloodstained lock of the evil crones black hair.’

‘I’m sorry Lord, the answer’s no, my mind you will not sway,
Especially as I saw you, ‘in flagrante’, yesterday
I believe he is a swain, a herder of your sheep,
But fear not my Lord and Master, tis a secret I will keep.’
‘Come now pretty maiden, your eyes they dost deceive,
For I was merely giving instruction before he took his leave.’
‘Instruction to serf from Master will never go amiss,
But did you have to convey it with a sloppy Kiss?’

‘You forget yourself, young maiden. Am I not your Squire?’
Asked the Aristocratic youth, suffused with angst and ire.
‘Stamping your foot my Lord will not get you your way
For I love another whom I hope to marry some fine day.’
‘You will marry me and like it!’ The chastened youth replied.
As for this other prospect, why I’ll have his hide!’
‘Wake, my Lord. You are dreaming,’ it was repeated once again.
As he was woken from a drunken sleep by the landlords daughter Jane.


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