The Rise and Fall of Julius Caesar

With apologies to William Shakespeare.

Once, when the world was filled with Rome,
through long gone mists of time
there wasn't any poetry
for Romans couldn't rhyme.

They spent their days in other ways;
Their legions loved to fight.
They stooped to conquer everywhere
and Roman Law was Might.

The legions were victorious
returning back to Rome.
The fun waxed fast and furious
the moment they got home.

Their leader's name was Julius;
A very wily geezer.
With great intent this man was bent
to be another Caesar

Julius loved politics,
He was a fine orator.
With deep dismay, some heard him say
he'd be the next Dictator.

But first he had to woo the crowd.
The Proletariat.
To coax them and to hoax them;
To show them where it's at.

Some Senators were not impressed.
They mentioned their concern,
they'd heard so many prophecies
that Caesars let Rome burn.

They caught him on the Senate steps,
where Julius got the chop.
Although he cried before he died
and begged them all to stop.

He stood there in confusion,
his toga red and bloody,
until he took the final blow
from Brutus his old buddy.

He died before the forum
in manner most malicious.
Which goes to show you what you get
for being too ambitious.

The Battle of Hastings 1066

The Scots and the Vikings were causing unrest,
they were shouting and raising a riot;
King Hal and his army proceeded up North
to restore to the land, peace and quiet.

At Stalybridge, Vikings were having a ball,
indulging in looting and pillage;
Until Harold’s army had captured them all,
and hung them in threes round the village.

Then messengers came with a warning of note,
“Hey Harold, there’s trouble at ‘mill
There’s Normans in Hastings, they came in a boat,
and they’re led by this Frenchman named Bill.”

“Good Gracious,” said Harold.“ It’s William again.
His manners are such a disgrace.
These Frenchmen are starting to give me a pain.
Let’s go and kick sand in his face!”

The lads turned for home, and they travelled quite fast.
They marched through the day and the night;
Till foot sore and weary, they got back at last,
in time to take part in the fight.

At first, the poor Normans were battered and torn.
They were put to the sword and the lance;
And William was wishing he’d never been born,
as he longed for the safety of France.

Then Harold stood proud, and he tossed back his curls,
and he shouted “ I’m boss of these parts !
You Frenchmen are better at chatting up girls,
so stick to your tennis and darts.

An archer from France grew quite mad at this gibe,
and he drew up his bow and let fly.
Whether lucky or not, it’s quite hard to ascribe;
But he hit poor old ‘H.’ in the eye.

Poor Harold was stricken, he fell on the beach;
Defeated, he died in disgrace.
and William gave out with a Victory speech,
then he went and took over the place.

He shared all the land with his Barons and Earls;
They invented the magistrates bench.
They fined all the peasants and raped all the girls,
And taught all the kids to speak French.

A Great and Glorious Adventure

The Hundred Years War
(or some of it)

Fair sits the wind for France, said Harry to his band.
Let’s grab a boat, and take  a trip, and pinch some Gallic land.
They formed a mighty army, equipped with sword and bow.
some thought that he was balmy, but none dared tell him so

He made such rousing speeches, men cheered from lusty throats,
then went down to the beaches and climbed aboard their boats.
They sailed the English Channel, which didn’t take too long.
The English sharpened weapons while the Welsh men sang a song.

Some sad and surly Frenchmen were waiting on the shore.
“What are you doing, Mes amis! What ‘ave you come ‘ere for ?”
The British groaned when Hal stood up to tell once more his story.
He rambled on, for hours and, hours about his quest for glory.

(A burly man named Falstaff, with glazed and vacant eye
said “When I’m back in Blighty that Shakespeare’s got to die”.)

The French were quite impassive; They blew both froid et chaud.
Then Jean le Tet said, loud and clear,“ You’d better hit the road.
You may be here for glory, but lads, you’ll have to hike,
there is no public transport, for La France is out on strike”.

Poor Harry gave an inward groan, his generals were no fools,
but British men would never fight against the Union Rules.
His eagle eye surveyed the land, and then he saw a thicket,
his heart leapt high within his throat, they hadn’t placed a picket.

He shouted from his rostrum ,come brothers one and all.
Though base you are, and base we be let’s breach this rustic wall.
Thus in the name of glory, they waged a bloody war.
The Frenchmen cried at Crecy, and they wept at Agincourt.

Until the lads grew restless, they tired of Coq au Vin.
The French had this embargo, and there was no British lamb.
They ventured back to England, setting a speedy course,
dreaming their dreams of fish and chips, and lamb chops with mint sauce.

When they got back to Windsor, they stood and looked askance.
Their wives were making merry with some gentlemen from France.
While they had been out fighting, the girls had had a ball,
indulging Latin Lovers from the heart of deepest Gaul.

And high up in the ramparts the Frenchmen cried with glee,
“Vive le France, et Vive le Guerre et Vive la company”.
Poor Harry’s heart grew bitter and his soul was filled with gall.
He knew, once more, he’d have to breach another bloody wall.

Sorry William.

The Misadventures of Sir Walter Raleigh

The little ship came limping home
With torn and tattered sail
She'd bravely sailed the seven seas
And weathered many a gale.

The captain bounded to the shore
into a wondrous scene
Before him stood, majestically
Elizabeth, his Queen.

She stood so tall and regal,
her hair an awesome red;
All he could do was tremble
and bow his humble head.

She walked towards the captain.
Between them lay a pool,
which Walter covered with his cloak;
Ever the gallant fool.

She trod it with a dainty foot,
laughed at her captain bold,
then found herself up to her neck
in water, wet and cold.

The glare she turned on Raleigh
boded the man no good,
not even when he helped her out
and offered her a spud.

She didn't want potatoes.
She didn't fancy chips.
They ruined her complexion,
played havoc with her hips.

What's more, the knave kept laughing.
He thought it some huge joke.
Her rage was all consuming
when he offered her a smoke.

She blew a perfect smoke ring
"What else is in your hold?
Where have you hid my treasure?
What of my New World gold?"

They took him to the Tower
and put him to the axe
before he got the chance to speak
Of Value Added Tax.

Four hundred years later
those dried leaves in his hold
have proved themselves, without a doubt
more valuable than gold.

"Thank God for Walter Raleigh"
We hear the Chancellor say,
for Players Weights and Woodbines
keep The National Debt at bay.

The Legend of Sir Kenneth Dodde

1625 – 1702

The house was dark and silent, 
The clock struck half past four
Then came a thunderous knocking 
upon the old oak door.

An upstairs bedroom window 
became diffused in light
The watchers looked above 
them then tumbled back in fright.

What was that apparition 
with manic, gleaming eye
With teeth protruding whitely 
and black hair stood on high.

“ Sir Kenneth, rouse your person, 
You’re placed in close arrest”
“ I’ll be down in a minute. 
Just wait till I get dressed”

Sir Ken spied with the watchers 
a masked man, with an axe.
“There’s some mistake!” Sir Kenneth said.
“I’ve paid my income tax!”

“ We’re not disposed to argue! 
Come down, or you’ll get hurt”
“ I’m coming down directly. 
Oh Mother! Where’s me shirt?”

Sir Kenneth was arrested 
by men so dark and dour,
They grabbed him by the manacles 
and dragged him to the Tower.

He stood inside his prison 
and gave a rueful laugh
“ I’ll not be here for long!” Quoth he, 
and waved his tickling staff.

Somewhere within the city 
came cries of deep dismay
As diddymen came gathering t
o ready for the fray.

“ Prepare yourselves to marmalise” 
cried little diddy Mick,
And a thousand diddy fingers 
waved their little tickling stick.

The butty mines were emptied, 
the shops were all closed down. 
Ten thousand angry diddymen 
marched into London Town.

The Tower was torn to pieces 
dissembled brick by brick.
No soldier dared to stand and face 
an angry tickling stick.

Sir Kenneth Dodde was rescued; 
He went back to his house
And threw a mighty party 
served up with loads of scouse.

The world was filled with laughter; 
Sir Kenneth danced with glee.
He honoured the occasion 
by the planting of a tree.

The tree grew strong and sturdy 
and with a Scouse panache,
They built a town around it 
and they called it Knotty Ash.

Sir Walter. The Return.

The town clock marked the ending of the day
As shadows lengthened in the evening light
And one by one the window lights went out
The streets surrendered to another night

Here comes a hero, ambling through the dark
Singing a raucous, melancholy song
Searching through pockets for a paltry coin
To buy a drink to help the night along

Tossed on his backside from another pub
Bearing the thirst that always yearns for more
He hears the welcome sound of clinking glass
And staggers through an ever open door   

He sees a figure standing at the bar
With face in shadow from a feathered cap
The drunk advances with an outstretched hand
He thinks he knows this fine upstanding chap

This is the man who first discovered chips
Bringing potatoes far across the sea
With spices, herbs, and the obnoxious weed
To carve his name in English history

Under the affluence of incohol
The drunken sot performed a little jig
And Walter Raleigh, not to be outdone
Sang him a song and offered him a cig.

The landlord gave them both a baleful glare
“ I’ll have no nonsense in my pub  ”, he said
“We don’t serve drunks, so push off out of there.
Just get off home before you lose your head ” 

Sir Walter paused as he got to the door;
He  doffed his cap ,and then he bowed down low
“ Forsooth young varlet, you’re a mite too late
I lost my head four hundred years ago.