Swith's tale at the festival bonfire

I’s goin’ ta weave a tale for yer,

Was goin’ ta sing a song…

But as some o’ yer migh’ well know

Me lute - she feels quite wrong…

(Some rude an’ moody drowfolk went

An’ cut me strings right through…

But matters not, me mind be bent

Upon a song for THEM I’ll do…)

But now I gi’s a diff’rent tale,

Tha’ maybe drow of old,

When still cultured ta know the arts,

Might liked to ‘ave ‘eard well told.

Now, some o’ yer may know me mind,

When’t comes ta matters o’ the heart:

That grandest trick - the eyes do blind

Wi’ Love… that laughs, then turns to fart.

But p’raps this tale befits me well,

This tale o’ trickster Love at play,

So might yer see as I shall tell

An’ course of fates do weave their way…

In Millenot, the royal hall,

O’ Caleb, aging King o’ t’North,

There was prepared a stately ball,

An’ nobles were invited forth.

(An’ I were there meself o’ course,

Providin’ music fer the dance)

The King’s real wish, to put slight force

Behind a push to a romance

Of ‘is sweet daughter Isabelle,

So fair, so elegant an’ tall…

This was, so far as we could tell,

The third – no - fourth or fifth such ball,

In vain attempt to fan a flame

Within the heart o’ that fair thing.

To such an end, three lords o’ fame

Did come at biddin’ o’ the King.

(‘Twas said the princess, by desire,

Was trussed up in a special belt –

So man’s ardour would have to fire

To nah just heart, but metal melt…)

But I digress – these nobles three

O’ certain grace an’ honour’d breed,

Did all arrive most punctually,

Each one upon a worthy steed.

Lord Duncan, finest warrior known,

‘is reputation through the door

Before ‘is feet - but just to beat

‘is ego draggin’ ‘cross the floor.

Then came the young Prince Gregory:

A brattish, slightly spoiled lad,

‘is natural, but translucent charm

A brief distraction from the cad.

Lord Hubert, sickly rich in dress,

The elder, economic vote,

So burdened he wi’ weight o’ coin,

An’ castle wi’ a double moat.

They all sat down for th’openin’ feast,

From t’corner, playin’ me lute I saw

Such things as swans an’ sweets an’ geese,

A honeyed, succulent roasted boar…

An’ feast they did on such sweet meats,

Lords Hubert, Duncan, Gregory.

The latter, ‘e kept swappin’ seats

Ta sit wi’ all the maids, yer see…

Then Isabella’s cousin, Grace,

A plain but feisty girl o’ wit,

Spotted the Prince approach ‘er place:

Invited ‘im to come an’ sit.

She ‘ad been eatin’ from a plate

O’ local shellfish from the town.

She whisper’d that potential mate

Should take one up an’ eat it down.

“For truth”, said she into ‘is ear,

“These little creatures o’ the sea,

Can bring the flames of passion near –

An’ Isabella may choose thee…”

Impress’d, the young prince took ‘is chance

An’ soon, the feast drew to a close.

We struck up chords inspirin’ dance,

To rouse the guests upon their toes.

An’ as the evenin’ rolled along,

Wi’ farandoles an’ sarabandes,

The three men danced amid the throng.

Seekin’ Isabella’s hands…

Upon a gigue, Prince Gregory

Did sudden stop to softly frown.

The ‘earty sense o’ revelry

Became a feelin’ further down…

Yer see, the Prince, so delicate,

Ne’er before ‘ad ate those fish.

An’ since ‘e took from Grace’s plate,

‘E were suff’rin’ from that local dish…

‘e sat awhile, not far from me -

I watched ‘im as I played me lute –

‘is poor stomach played ‘armony,

A rumbled discord wi’ no mute.

‘E sat an’ shifted as ‘e spied

Lord Hubert an’ Lord Duncan brought

In turn ta meet the promised bride.

An’ soon King Caleb’s eye ‘ad caught

Prince Gregory’s. An’ ‘e did nod

An’ motion forward ‘is daughter fair

Ta meet the worsenin’ poorly sod.

The lad uttered a silent prayer…

Approach’d he, wi’ a curious gait,

An’ strange expression on ‘is face.

He breathed, then paused – An’ she did wait –

‘Til cried he: ‘I must quit this place!’

An’ set off out the hall at pace.

The Princess stood an’ gaped a while.

The crowd’s eyes fell upon ‘er face

Until ‘er lips began ta smile…

“What an enigma,” she did sigh,

“What handsome mystery abound…

Go – seek ‘im out and, by and by,

‘E may become an ‘usband found…”

The King’s men rushed ta find the lad -

An’ three days later brought ‘im back.

(For that young Prince ‘ad felt so bad

For shame e’d hidden in a sack…)

An’ soon they were most truly wed…

Although ‘ad she that truth well known,

Perhaps the fire that graced their bed

Would ‘ave a pail o’ water thrown.

So now yer knows why I proclaim

That Love be jus’ a trickster foul…

For that grand feelin’ o’ love’s flame,

Was nah in’t heart – ‘twas in the bowel.