The suiting end of a rough-worn week an anotter blacked nite from liver-sqweezins and that be evently the best times I do my skill but the real work starts a-going today, aie
by Fletch
Eh fine, fine day. Wayta blow off the seams of a hard week of trainin. Rue landed hisself the stone dublet, King Dumbarton ennertained us all, and Kai turnt a might-fine skink.
I hit a hard sleep and found my breeches utop the tavern chandleer. Maydens and culls ere looking at ‘ol Fletch a bit harder todee, aie.
In the tavern one eve there was spun quite the tale
I heard, o’era mugful of stout
Of a loosly and lovally swivable milk mayd,
Of coarse, I determint…to seek this about!
I staggrt down south and I knockt at the ‘stead,
Where a saucy ewe greeted this lout.
She purrt “Are you here for the farmer’s lush daughter?”
“Way ho!” sayt I…with a gutful of stout.
She wasted no moment, and soon we were bare,
Her fields were true verdent, no dout.
She trussed up the covey and burrowed him there,
“Gee-UP!” thought I…with a head full of stout.
Her father did find us, and pichfork held high,
He readyied to breat me a clout.
“I rekon you’re tending to marry my girl?”
“Ev corsh” sayt I…with a heart filled with stout.
So tell all your sons, and mind all your drinks,
Don’t listen for maydens to swive.
The daughters of farmers don’t stay farmers daughters,
In truth, they become…bowsy culls’ wives.
