The Duel (As Sung by a Troubadour, Standing Near a Crumbling Castle)

On a misty morn, he walks the street

a chain of meats he carry

to the merchant's wife, to bring her aid,

and dares he not to tarry.

The merchant's wife requires foods

and more she needs of Frank

the chain of bangers, coiled for her

he rushed in weather, dank.

Some bangers she requested, true

and she had asked for more

the open door to her boudoir

gave clue to her implore.

"I say, you have my produce, m'lady

what more of me you seek?"

"I'll have another sausage, man

a footlong savory link."

And so he showed his hidden gift

the merchant's wife, was pleased.

she ordered daily rations hence,

and served her household, these.

Her husband did not mind, it seems

to have no foul nor pork.

engrossed he was in counting coin

and spent all thought on work.

And so in bliss, the merchant's wife

received Frank's inventory

but their lives changes as entered he,

the bard, to change the story.

A bard he was, a poet skilled,

in rhyming cobbled, verse.

invited he, 't merchant's house

with parchment, writ in terce.

Presented he the balad short,

and as she read she smiled.

and thus the bard, enchanted he,

his humors thus beguilled.

Applied his quill and wrote her more,

of wond'rous things of hew

it was, of course a subtle glint

a literary clue.

And read she well and found his heart

alluded 'twixt his lines

she gave him food and kisses,

and in bed they sat and dined.

One day she served him sausage links,

in linen sheets they laid,

t'was then they heard a clamor,

remonstrations of the maid.

They hurried, coverd naked flesh,

in cloth, and woolen dress.

and met the injured sausage-smith

Who saw her hair a mess.

A wild and savage mane she had,

untamed because of haste

and Frank was sure what had transpired,

His love she had misplaced.

And challnged he, the bard to meet,

and settle things of pride,

the bard had blinked but made ascent,

his honor he wont hide.

I knew them both, o friends of mine,

poor bard and gallant Frank,

they met again despite my tries,

along the riverbank.

I tried to bring them peace in song

and desperately strummed my lute,

but it was livid, hurtful stares,

it made my efforts mute.

Presented they the weapons, sharp,

their daggers; all they owned

they pounced upon another quick.

and soon, i heard a groan.

The bard was cut, his injury,

was deep and his blood flow

he fell upon the grass and lay

his eyes in pain aglow.

We rushed to help and comfort him,

he smiled then , as we nursed,

and said it did occur to him,

that Frank had done his wurst.