Locksley Monsters never yield
on the field of battle
strike the helm and bash the shield
make their eyeteeth rattle
Bodies on the ground will lie
bones will burst in sunder
search for Locksleys' enemies:
You'll find them six feet under!
(sung to the tune (obviously) of the 12 Days of Christmas)
1. The first time I sent my device, The Heralds said to me
"It violates the Rule of Three"
2. The next time I tried it, the Heralds said to me
"We changed the forms, and it violates the Rule of
Three".
3. The third time I tried, and the Heralds said to me,
"We upped the fees, we changed the forms, and it
violates the Rule of Three".
4. Another time I tried and the Heralds said to me,
"We haven't got it, we upped the fees, we changed the
forms, and it violates the Rule of Three".
5. The fifth time I tried it, the Heralds said to me,
"In a decision rendered by the College of Arms on
August 1st, A.S. V it was decided that this style of
heraldic design was not appropriate to the aims and
intentions of the Corporate Body. Holy! Holy! Holy! "
note: verse 5 is delivered in an extremely fast, mono-
tone, similiar to a Gregorian Chant.
" ....we haven't got it, we upped the fees, we changed the forms,
and it violates the Rule of Three."
6. I tried it a sixth time, and the Heralds said to me,
"We changed the rules, &c"
7. A seventh time I tried and, the Heralds said to me,
"It's against the Rule of Tincture, we changed the
rules, &c"
8. I tried it once again and the heralds said to me,
"It's not a Period design, It's against the Rule of Tincture, We
changed the rules, &c"
* more *
Heralds Said To Me (cont.)
9. I sent it in once more, and the Heralds said to me,
"We changed the rules again, It's not a Period design,
it's against the Rule of Tincture, we changed the
rules, &c"
10. (sung in cold anger)
The LAST time I sent my device, the Heralds said to me
(sung in a state of SMUG)
"Someone else has got it, &c"
(nb: every single one of these reasons has been used by the
CoA, at one point or another, to reject perfectly good
heraldry, along with some even MORE stupid. If the shoe
fits....................!!!!!!!!)
or: Who was that Vermin I saw you with last, Knight?
or: There may be Lice on all you Knice, but there ain't no Lice on me
Once there was a Barony howling in the wilderness
nestled in the Valley where the River doesn't flow
and the folks were driven buggy by the insects in the Revel Hall
Authenticity is wonderful, but this doesn't go!
Bugs on the Baroness, bugs on the Baroness!
That was the cry that you heard all the day
and the scratching can be heard from Ysgithr to Ered Sul
why did we come here? Let's go away!
See them all a scratching, nestled in their armour tight
the fleas have a melee team that's challenging the field!
call Truly Nolen! Someone's gotta help us out!
the crabs are nesting in our helms but we'll never yield!
(chorus)
Dawn comes a-breaking, the bugs have won the Coronet...
flea-infested Conan-clones in piles upon the lawn
where is the Barony? The bugs have eaten everyone...
termites got the stick-jocks, and all their sticks are gone!
For all the Lands where I have dwelt
Oh Atenveldt, Oh Atenveldt
till rivers burn and mountains melt
lest I forget my Atenveldt
From deserts stark to snow-capped peaks
from silent lakes and laughing creeks
sing: Oh let man find his heart's ease
on rocky plains
in desert breeze
For oft I thought of mighty men
who carved a Land with sword and pen
and lit a candle, burning bright,
that pierced the darkness; stirred the night!
tho some are gone their deeds remain
this sunny Crown without a stain
sing: Oh, their deeds were not in vain!
in sunlit days
and falling rain.....
So raise your banners, blazoned bright
Advance the Dream and Shine the Light!
in battle's crash and Revel's song
raise high the Flag and wave it long!
For all the Lands wherein I've dwelt
I love you best, my Atenveldt!
Sing: Oh the Joy that I have felt!
My Atenveldt
My Atenveldt
NUDE
Ioseph of Locksley
Aengus MacEdwin
copyright 1982 W.J.Bethancourt III and Ed Hirt
tune: Men of Harlech
What the use of wearing panties
whalebone corsets of your Auntie's
boxer shorts and other scanties
best of all is nude
there's such fun in going bra-less
now that it's no longer lawless
'specially if your figure's flawless
best of all is nude
nude is what you're born in
shirts are never torn in
underwear and lacy flimsies, garter belts and other whimsies
yards of itchy cloth to put your form in
ducks all do it, maidens rue it
even ancient Picts in Britain blue it
going naked's how to do it
best of all is nude!
If your garters aren't elastic
tie them up in knots fantastic
(panty hose is something drastic!)
best of all is nude!
If you're tired of wearing clotheses
shed your garment 'mongst the roses
never mind the old bluenoses
best of all is nude!
Nude is best for ducking!
Worst for horses bucking!
Moonlit nights will see such sights
that are very best for fooling round
.....and elbows!
Nudity is grand to see
a well-known antidote to virginity
take your clothes off and you'll see:
best of all is nude!
CELTIC CIRCLE DANCE
copyright 1984 W. J. Bethancourt III
recorded: CELTIC CIRCLE DANCE
WTP-0002
tune: Same Old Man/Leatherwing Bat
Hi said the Norn, sittin in the sand
once I talked to a great Grey Man
spun three times and said with a sigh
hadn't been for the Runes had his other eye!
Chorus: hi diddle i diddle i day
hi diddle i diddle i diddle ay
hi di diddle i diddle i day
fol the dink a dum diddle do di day
Hi said the Lady, dressed in green
prettiest thing I've ever seen
she went down underneath the hill
and came back out of her own free will
Brian Boru, on Irish ground
walked three times the Island round
Norsemen came lookin for a fight
just another Irish Saturday night!
Hi said Lugh on the banquest night
a poet and a player and a good wheelwright
a harper and a warrior and none the least:
a Druid and he got in to the Feast!
Harold Haardrada's face was red!
Came to Britain and he wound up dead
Stamford Bridge is where he's found
got six feet of English ground
the Legion with it's Eagles bright
marched into the Pictish night
met them there upon the sand
gave em up to the Wicker Man!
eight-legged steed and hound of Hel
the one-eyed Man, he loves ya well
fire burn and fire spark
are you then feared of the dark?
The Circle forms, the Circle flows
the Circle goes where no man knows
Hail to the Lady, one in three:
Present is Past and Past is Me!
Rhiannon's Birds are still in flight
all thru the Day all thru the Night
Hail to the Lady, one in Three
Present is Past and Past is Thee!
* more *
Celtic Circle Dance (cont.)
Hi said the Lady dressed in white
sang the Day and sang the Night
sang the Land and sang the Sea
sang the Song, and then sang Me!
(extra verses) Salt and oil and mirror bright
fire and fleet and candlelight
by fin and feather, leaf and tree,
fill the cup and blessed be!
From the misty crystal sea
came the Lady to the lea
Sword and Roses in Her Hand
spread their seeds thruout the Land
Came the Stag from oaken wood
saw the Lady where she stood
by the fire burning bright
came to know his heart's delight!
(end of extra verses)
By Sword and Harp, and Irish Hound
Blessed Be: the Day I've found
Hail to the Lady, one in Three
Present is Past and Past is WE
By Oak and Ash and Holy Thorn
bledded be the Day you're born!
Fire burn and fire bright
walk in safety thru the night
I'll tell you a tale of Peace and Love
whack fol the diddle o the di do day
Of those that Rule all Lands above
whack fol the diddle o the di do day
may Peace, and Plenty be their share
that keep our Empire in repair
God save the Directors is our prayer!
whack fol the diddle o the di do day
chorus: whack fol the diddle o the di do day
so we cry! It's no lie!
God save the Directors up on high!
whack fol the diddle o the di do day
When we were Sauvage, Fierce and Wilde
they came as a Mother to her childe
they gently raised us from the slime
and kept our hands from Hellishe Crime
and made us a Kingdom in their own good time
Now, Atenveldt forgets the Past
and thinks on a Day that's coming fast
when we shall all be....civilized....(puke)
neat, and clean.....and WELL-ADVISED
oh won't the Directors be....suprised?!
Being a Polemic concerning the alleged Custom of the West Kingdom concerning
checking your Weapons at the Door of the Revel Hall. As the Satire is the
Weapon of the Bard, this said Polemic is to be checked at the Door, along with
swords, knives, redheaded Ladies and other such Deadly Things.....
As I roved out to Western Lands to take the Western Air
I went into a Revel Hall and I saw a Twelfth Night there
but I was halted at the gate by a Privy Consellor
(that's the man who tells the King of the West how to go to
the bath room!)
who told me I would have to check my Weapons at the door
As I, in my astonishment, stood hung on tenter-pegs
a Knight came in whose Prouess hung down between his legs
the Doorman grabbed a greatsword and he struck the Knight full sore
and gave him a reciept; he left his weapon at the door!
a Bard was next whose goodly Voice has entertained us all
but he, too, was prevented from entering the Hall
and told he could not carry deadly weapons on the floor
he left his Voice and Harp among the weapons at the door
a Master entered graciously, a man we all know well
who holds a 3rd Dan Black Belt, tho this he'd never tell
the Master struggled valiantly, the Master cursed and swore
but he left his hands, and feet, as weapons at the door
the company was jovial, altho a bit dismayed
for lack of proper cutlery, down to the smallest blade
for even teeth and fingernails, each can be used in War
were cut, and pulled, and left behind, as weapons at the door!
And has their King not loyal Knights that He must be afraid
of brawling in his Hall and of Assassin's bloody blade?
the Rights of Men to carry Arms at least WE'VE not foreswore
and a POX on them that made the Rule of Weapons at the Door!
As I walked out thru the streets of Ann Arbor
as I walked out thru Ann Arbor one day
I spied a young Mongol all dressed in white linen
all dressed in white linen and cold as the clay
I then spied another, done in on the sidewalk
along with just about six dozen more
their wounds were all gaping, from mace and from braoadsword
from claymore and cannon, all dripping with gore
what caused this grave carnage, I cried to the Monglos
oh pray what's the reason for this awful sight
my answer came slowly from under the corpse-pile
"It seems that our bark is much worse than our bite....."
the answer continued from pale lips a-shaking
we sang all our songs and believed them as true
the Dark Horde could never be beaten in battle
we thought this was what all good Mongols could do...
we went down to Atenveldt all for to plunder
"too large to defend" was our song every night
but Atenveldt's different from East, West or Middle
there, even the bushes have learned how to bite!
the Clann stole our ponies, the Scraelings our foodstuffs
we ran into axes in AtenViking hands
our maidens ran off with one Richard of Arkham
and we're all that's left to return to our lands
MacChluarains and Monsters, Lockehaven and Foxmoor
that Kingdom is BIG and its' fighters are MEAN!
we fought and we lost, and fled back to Ann Arbor
we all came back home with results that you've seen
keep away from that Land with its' cactus and marshes
it's no place for Mongols who are bent on War
they count their blows well, but they strick them yet better
he crawled into his Yurt, and fell, dead, on the floor.....
SONG OF THE THREE
copyright 1981 W. J. Bethancourt III
C. A. Bethancourt III
tune: the song of the Cowardly Lion, Tin Woodsman and Scarecrow
in the movie version of the Wizard of Oz
(Enter the Scarecrow, who singeth:)
My wife is always nagging; my Prowess it is lagging
I can't do anything
she has got a reason, but revenge is out of season
Oh I wish I could be King!
If I just had the Crown on, I'd always have a frown on
and the Barons on a string
Heads they would be rolling, the Board would be cajoling
Oh if only I was King!
I am very fed up with the way this group is set up
Oh I'd change everything!
they are so high and mighty with the way that they do fight-ey
Oh, someday I'll be King!
Tho my wife is melancholic, and very...vitriolic
she's a wasp without a sting!
I'd have to supervise her with a pack of tranquilizers
If I only was a King......
(the Tin Woodsman joineth him, and singeth:)
I grew up kind of cocky, and rather big, and stocky
and straight as any rod
on the field I'm a battallion, with the Ladies I'm a stallion
...Oh they'd better make me God!
The other boys are jealous they say I'm over-zealous
they'd do better to applaud
the things that I am giving to this Dream that we are living
oh I wish they'd make me God!
They say that I'm conceited, but I'm just badly treated
by people and by BoD
just think of what they're missing by My Majesty dismissing
Oh they'd better make me God!
(the Cowardly Lion creepeth forth, and singeth:)
Oh I could be a fighter, a great and mighty smiter
and be the perfect knight
it's a great and nasty shame, and everyone's to blame
oh I wish that I could fight!
* more *
Song of the Three (cont.)
I could be a Cavalier drinking wine and ale and beer
and be a gorgeous sight
but it would cost me too much money so it isn't very funny
oh I wish that I could fight!
Let me at 'em on the field, I would surely make them yield
to my Power and my Might
with rattan, shinai and rapier they would nevermore escape here
If they'd only let me fight
OH MY LADYE
-Ioseph of Locksley
copyright 1989 W. J. Bethancourt III
(Tune: Lizzie Lindsay (Child #226)
Will y'gang t'the Hielands, Oh, my Lady?
Will y'gang t'the Hielands wi' me?
Will y'gang t'the Hielands, oh my Lady?
M'bride and m'bonnie t'be?
I'll no gang to t'Hielands wi you, sir
I dinna ken how that may be
For I ken nae the Land that y'live in
Nor dowry y'may give t'me
Oh, m'lady it be y'ken little
If y'dinna ken me
For my name is the great Laird of Locksley
A Chieftain of high degree
For dowry, I give you the whole of
the earth, and the sea and the sky
and the Road along with me t'travel
and the love of a Bard such as I
She has kilted her coats of green satin
She has kilted them up t'her knee
and she's off w'the great Laird of Locksley
His bride and his darlin' tae be!
Will y'gang t'the Hielands, oh my Lady?
Will y'gang t'the Hielands wi me?
Will y'gang t'the Hielands, oh my Lady?
My bride and my bonnie t'be?
***********************************************
**********************************************
MY LOVE, MY LOVE: YOU BROKE MY HEART
-William of the Shire
-Ioseph of Locksley
copyright 1971, 1989 W.J.Bethancourt III
Am B7 Am G Am E7 Am
My love, my love, you broke my heart; I'm off to join the Wars
Am B7 Am G Am E7 Am A
I'm off to free the Holy Land from Saracens and Moors.
D A D D6 E7
And if you ever loved me dear, prepare my plot and stone
Am B7 Am G Am E7 A
Turn loose my hawks and hunting hounds: I'll not be riding home.
Prepare the funeral hatchment around my blazon bright
Go tell the Priest to sing the Mass; make restful my Soul's night
And if you ever loved me dear, prepare my plot and stone
Turn loose my hawks and hunting hounds: I'll not be riding home.
I cannot live with broken heart; the wound you gave will kill.
And Death's cold hand is on my Soul, I feel his awful chill.
My Destiny lies on the Field, in months, or days, or years....
And if you never loved me dear, shed not your lying tears.
************************************************************
(room for 27-28 lines)
THE ITSY BITSY TEENY WEENY.......
-Ioseph of Locksley
copyright 1989 W.J.Bethancourt III
She was afraid to come out to the Tourney
She was worried that "something might show.."
She was afraid to come out to the Tourney
And the poor thing did NOT want to go...
(2 - 3 - 4, tell the people what she wore!)
It was an itsy bitsy teeny weenie little rabbit fur bikini
That she wore, for the first time, that day.
An itsy bitsy teenie weenie little rabbit fur bikini
And in her apartment she wanted to stay!
One day in the Kingdom of the Middle
It happened at a Tourney one day:
The Mongols invaded the Middle
But the Middle did not want to play...
(eins - zwei - drei, but the Dark Horde wouldn't die!)
It was an itsy bitsy tiny teenie Nauseating Mongol weenie
That they saw, for the first time, that day.
An itsy bitsy tiny teenie Nauseating Mongol weenie
And the Mongols did NOT go away!
Now the Heralds made up a new Rulebook
And to read it is some kind of gas!
It's a bureaucrat's dream, this new Rulebook
Now NOBODY'S blazon can pass!
(Win - Place - Show, tell the Heralds where to go!)
(insert Bronx cheer!)
I want an itsy bitsy teenie weenie little rabbit fur bikini
On my shield, as my blazon, today!
An itsy bitsy teenie weenie little rabbit fur bikini
But "that's offensive" the Heralds all say!
I sat down at the Revel last evening
To a feast of green meat, and Rat Pie...
It was cold, and disgusting, and greasy
And I just want to upchuck and die!
(6 - 7 - 8, tell them what was on your plate!)
It was an itsy bitsy teenie weenie little rabbit fur bikini
With a side dish of cold cabbage pie!
An itsy bitsy teenie weenie little rabbit fur bikini
With the fur on, and NOTHING inside!
(This was written to bug my sweet wife to death with...........heheh!)
IOSEPH'S SONG
-Ioseph of Locksley
copyright 1972, 1989 W. J. Bethancourt III
Some folks call me many names, others call me crazy
Tom O'Bedlam's son am I, for my mind is hazy!
I'd rather sing a song than work (if it's not too phrasey!)
Lengthy rhymes don't bother me....truth to tell: I'm lazy!
Yang, your yurt is very nice, and your Horde is smelly,
And I'm sure that yak-meat will nicely fill one's belly!
But remember this one line, or you're not worth jelly:
FIRST you plunder, THEN you burn! That's how to be rakehelly!
My Lady Lorelei your eyes do drive me to distraction
And the lovely Care-Cheri causes....petrifaction!
But I, and they, quite taken are, so I can't take action...
Therefore, Ladies, fill my cup; I'll drink to stupefaction!
Now Atenveldt your fighters, all, are most good and gentle
And the Ladies, bless 'em all, are most ornamental!
But that little Nikki-Toad....has me sentimental
Though with boffer in her hand she is argumental!
This stupid little song, m'lords, is mostly sung in Latin
By the Goliards, of course, from vespers clear to matins!
But I prefer a coarser cloth over silk or satins
English is more understood, mine enemies to flatten!
Good People all, I've made my Song, its' music's well-recited
But my voice could use some work; the flowers it has blighted!
It's rude and rusty, grim and bad, and squeaky like a door-hinge,
But I'm a better Bard than you: I found a rhyme for "orange!"
(note to verse 4: Nichelle of Whitewolfe is now a very beautiful young Lady
resident in Caid. This verse was written when she was 2 years old. Ask HER!
