A Nod To The Bard

 

Farmer Jack went off on his tractor               

To meet his good friend, a house factor                              

But instead of his buddy

With smiling face ruddy

He found a Shakespearean actor.

”Oh la!  Who art thou?”  quoth the peasant.

”I’m a farmer”,  snapped he, most unpleasant.                      

”And you?  Are those tights?                                               

We are not the bright lights                                             

But a place where we hunt duck and pheasant”.              

The actor said, ”Just call me Lee.

Before thee I bendeth my knee.                        

Please spare me thy wrath

For I’m someone who hath

Quaffed a few drinks and barely can see.                  

Thy friend, when he saw me took fright

And took off running into the night.

He too had supped ale                                           

And was squiffy and pale

‘Twas a pitiful, pitiful sight.                              

I fear he was bingeing like me

The liquor you see was all free

The knave was too weak                     

To remain here and speak

So he bid me, instead, meet with thee.”

”Oh, get up, fool”, the farmer did say

Forsooth, fol-de-rol, lack-a-day

Prithee please do not howl

We will go shoot some fowl                              

Thee and me we will have a nice day.”

Armed with guns and some bullets of brass

They wandered off into the grass

Then took aim and fired                                    

But the actor was tired

Oh, I’d love to, but let’s just say, ‘pass’.                  

Though well soused and all over the place

They came forth from the reeds with a brace,

Lee, a ruddy great cow

Farmer Jack an old sow,

Of the pheasant and ducks not a trace.

They roasted the game on a fire

Then sang Hey-Nonny-No to a lyre

By the dancing fire-lights

Farmer Jack donned some tights

And to Stratford’s great bard did aspire.           

‘Fare thee well” and some tears he did squeeze.

”May you prosper and never get fleas”

He talked just like a toff

‘Til his wig did fall off

And his tights dribbled down round his knees.

The actor then squealed, ”Oh, no way

Wilt thou ever make this caper pay.

Thou might suffer and sob,

But do keep the day job

And leave ME to do Shakespeare, I pray”.            

With a sigh and a wave of his hand

Farmer Jack took off back to the land

But he still wore the tights

When real cold were the nights

And a skinful had left him quite canned.

One such evening when trying to dredge

Up some Shakespeare he fell of a ledge.

He was rescued of course

By a knackered old horse

And thereafter our Jack took The Pledge.

The moral is painfully clear.

Stay away from all spirits and beer.

Don’t go hunting in tights

 And forego the delights

Hitherto, heretofore of Shakespeare.

                                                              lochsplus 

 

 

 

The Status Quo

 

In her palace a duchess was sitting                       

Passing time as she worked on her knitting

Then she thought with a sigh

”One as high born as I

Should engage in a pastime more fitting.

His Lordship does floozies engage                             

A disgrace to his status and age

I’ve been very forgiving                                       

Despite his high living

But now I must a protest stage”.

So she waited ’til just after dark

When the dogs would be still and not bark

Then, with bod aptly clad                                                     

Dressed in feathers and plaid

She crept quietly out to the park.

Joining six scantly clad moonlight vamps

And a salesman and two friendly tramps

Plus a Scotsman named Roy

(Such a good-looking boy)

Then a vicar out there to swap stamps.

At a flagpole they all gathered round

Up the mast was her ladyship bound

With a shrill ”Tally ho!  God bless England!  Let’s go!”

She attempted to get off the ground.

Roy said, ”Just a wee minute, hen.

Have a swig o’ ma whisky and then

When ye’ve had a good sup

We’ll all help you climb up

And we’ll wait ’til you come down again”.

Madame drank ’til her eyes did both cross

Then she hollered, ”Though I am the boss

A hand I’ll still need

Of the ground to be freed

It’s too bad that I don’t have my hoss.

All the crowd did take part to assist

Since from booze she’d a definite list

Now she yelled, ”Now no snickers

When you see my knickers!”

Then climbed up and was lost in the mist.  

As Roy picked up his pipes and his bag

His knees ‘neath his kilt did fair sag

But he played a sad song                                                     

While the crowd passed a bong

Before proudly saluting the flag.

She perched there for two years and a day

Doing crosswords and munching on hay

Every once in a while

She would chortle and smile

With the fairies poor dear was away.

When she finally did come on down

All her friends had moved on, back to town,                                   

But a new lot took over

With night as their cover

This time they were joined by a clown.

As she looked at a Scot (different name)

Plus a bunch of girls out on the game

To those folks of the night

Duchess cried, ”It’s so right!

The more things change, the more they’re the same.” 

                                                                                 lochsplus