Excerpts from Sir Geoffrey and the Quest for the Ladye of the Lake
The Quest Proposed
Sir Geoffrey Richard Vanstone Myles
His jowls stretched wide with food and smiles
Plied fork to plate with urgent zeal
To satisfy his inner needs
His page more measured strokes the plate
Did ply and sips from tankard take
And sat bulk lesser and more light
Upon his bench than did his Knyghte
The Knyght his lips from sauce wiped free
And to his Page remarked, Mark me
Methinks the joy of foods consumption
In sooth is a consummation!
Consumed or served my Lord I'm sure
The joy is great for those with more
Than I in recent times have got -
Thy Lady's gone now, has she not?
My Lady's to th'Orient gone
The heathen folk to teach our tongue
A nobler cause than mine I wot
A keen loss, yet I rue it not
But loss it is and lost am I
And have no wish to idle lye
Canst thou propose a quest perchance
To lift my downcast countenance?
Cast down my Lord, tis much the same
When downward cast at joustings game
The knyghte who would his pride retain
Must straight away remount again!
Tis rumoured, Sire, a Ladye lives
By far-off streams surrounded with
The finest country known to man
Yet none may know her, and none can!
No man but I! If she's no Nun
Her comely vertue can be won
Thou speakst as youth with youthly fears
Where age hath learnt to persevere!
Where lives she then, this eager mayd
Who longs a Ladye to be mayde?
Well thou knowst I grasp each chance
To exercise my oaken lance!
Aye Lord, the Page with rue concurred
Thy zeal was never long deferred
Tho much misplaced, in verity
To oft-lost opportunity!
But swiftly then continued on
To mollify his master's frown
Tis in the country known as high
Where mighty mountains touch the sky
From such a one known as Big Dargle
A tiny brook doth leap and gargle
Rock to rock, a river sooner,
Rejoicing in the name of Tooma!
What, Dargle, Tooma, names like that
Hast thou fast-quaffed a quart of sack?
Not so my Lord these names are not
More strange than fabled Camelot
Well myth or no, come what maybe
I'll to the moon for a fair Ladye
Come, hitch up the cart, burnish my shield
My upright lance I'll firmly seize!
The Questers at Camp Upon the Sward
Rise like the Sunne, the Knyghte exclaimed
Stirring the Pages supine frame
The skies are clear, the day is fair
All bodeth well for our affairs
The Page one sleep-bound eye did crack
The tents frail fabric slid aback
To see the sward all jewelled bright
By frost-gems cast up by the night
Tis cold, my Lord, for certain fact
He said, withdrawing in his sacke
Ill rouse anon at proper hour
When sunne hath wielded warmer power
Thou sluggard reptile, rise forthwith
Or I from slumber shall thee lift
The sunne is yet above the hill
And casts his beames to melt the chill
Aye melt my Lord, a truer word
Hath ne'r my Master yet declared
Here look unto our water pot
With ice its spout is clogged up!
But soon indeed with warming thaw
The Page began to move the more
Enough to brew their break-fast tea
Within the pot he named billy
Sir Geoffrey Has the Ladye
Twas some hours later came he back
To camp again by different track
To find Sir Geoffrey not for want
Sunk deep within the knowledge-font
My Lord, cried he, joy ill concealed
Our quest's true goal has been revealed
The challenge do I thus proclaim
And may my Lord his Prize attain!
What, has thou seen the Ladye, Page?
Sir Geoffrey quoth from linen cave
Wherein he lay at ease with book
And cast the Page a searching look
Aye my Lord, not far she lies
In deep calm pool neath mirror skies
Would thou wouldst take up thy rod
And strike the stream as Moses did!
The waters may thou not divide
But woe to her thou shall betide
For ne'er a bolder knyghte could draw
A regent from her kingdoms thrall
Then up he leapt, a sudden dressed
With gasp of pain on intook breath
And strapt upon his ancient clogs
And seized his dirk and barbs and rod
Have at her, aye! No more I ask
Than free her from the waters grasp
I'll cast straight in then swift withdraw
No conquest ere shall be so sure!
And so from high on rivers bank
Sir Geoffrey's lure deep inward sank
The rod shot out, a captive pinned
As swift as man doth yield to sin!
Tis but a stripling, but bodes well
Posterity indeed shall tell
How quick was I to be so blest
Upon the outset of my quest
The Page, withdrawn, inclined a nod
Perceived his Master wield his rod
His own small lancet cast about
Til startled by a might shout
The net! The net! His urgent need
In pitch and volume was revealed
Yet swift as brought the net to hand
Sir Geoffrey had her on the land
Her writhing twists to no avail
Sir Geoffrey seized her by the tail
Lifted her up, one stroke did mete
And made his conquest all complete
Ah Page, he panted, rod reclined
This thought comes very quick to mind
When comes a catch within your grip
The moment's over, very quick!
A worthy insight, Sire, indeed
My Masters words are spilt with speed
And such to memry I'll commit
In tribute to thy virile wit!
The Page to no avail coursed on
The Knyght meantimes his catch took home
Till golden mirrored sunlight pass't
Across the lake like silver'd glass
The Quest Complete
Long both questers lay the morn
Deep rumblings shook Sir Geoffreys form
With fancies lance at phantom lists
He smote and unhorsed all in bliss
At last his dreamy jousting done
He oped the tent to see high sunne
And find the Page about his tasks
Of packing kit and filling flasks
Aha my Lord at last awakes
Ere noontide o'er our vale doth break
Here, take of tea this final lot
Which hath brewed strong within the pot
Sir Geoffrey raised on high the cup
And quaffed therefrom an eager sup
Then wheeezing gasped, tis tea or tar?
Such brew would purge a horse from far!
What, hath my Master lost his wit?
Tis thou who now must rise forthwith
We must away ere day grows long
And haply grows the sunne too strong
So forthwith did they both set to
The tent and gear packed up to go
And shouldered pack with eager will
And manful strode back up the hill
Anon the Knyghte leaned on a rock
And panting slowly breath drew back
Yet loudly though his heart did beat
A smile made both his lips well meet
And gazing deep into the vale
He cried, methinks I shall assail
Again forthwith a Queen's domain
And from her plunder riches gain!
The Page high upward cast his gaze
As one who utters heartfelt prayers
Then downward to the grassy verge
Gave voice to sway his master's urge
My Master smileth like a hound
Who roaming did a vixen find
And dallied long till dawns first glow
Then silent to his home did go
And when his Master rose to hunt
Bespying how his dog hath slunk
With grinning jowls and tail cocked high
Cried Rogue! What thou didst, would that I!
And so indeed my Lord hath done
A handsome service to the one
At whom he tilted high-cocked lance
With Art and Science, but not by chance
Your Lordship hath his quest fulfilled
And with her flesh our bellies filled
That noble Queen who was, now slain
But long may all her children reign!
