quote: (post)

Originally posted by Trickster
My Carrolism

"Prithy sir," asked the fool,
"Wither is thy malbonoy?"
"You scoundrel, ask the friar,
"Look there upon the stool!"

As the merchent happened to reply.
The jewels upon his fingers,
Did glinter in the firelight,
As the singers caught his eye.

Four in all they stood arrayed,
Like the square garden outside.
Their pleasant voices split the air,
Whilst the overfat friar prayed.

"Oh sugarlumps!" exclaimed the friar,
As he called for his best pipe.
"I hath lost thy malbonoy,
"Whence I rested by thy fire!"

The fool, he laughed and tumbled,
Until the merchent knocked him down,
"No more of that, you tumblecaw,
"You wretch you fool!" he rumbled

And thus all agape was the friar.
He was a-shivering,
And looked a tremblewraught,
On his way back to the prior.