76 lines
3.7 KiB
Plaintext
76 lines
3.7 KiB
Plaintext
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Good gentles,
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The recent "Casey at the Bat" inspired poem reminded me of my own
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piece along the same lines, called "Casey at the Crown." I tend to
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trot it out for feasts that follow Crown Tourneys. It was originally
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designed to fit Eastern traditions, such as 5-bout finals. Enjoy!
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CASEY AT THE CROWN -- by Bertram of Bearington
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At the recent crown the spectators were in an ugly mood,
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The bouts were rather boring -- nothing brutal, dumb, or crude,
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No one paid that much attention as the tourney lists played down,
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So it was all the more surprising who had reached the final round.
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Sir Percy was a shining star -- he sailed right through the field,
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Not a shot had grazed his helmet, not a tape-smear marred his shield,
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But the victor in the loser's list was quite a different sort,
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Mighty Casey, called "The Rhino," was three wins away from Court!
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Casey'd come from Outlands, or perhaps it was Caid,
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And on one thing all the fighters who had fought him were agreed,
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Like the fabled brontosaurus with its microscopic brain,
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It took Casey's nervous system several _weeks_ to notice pain.
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Short and squat and powerful the thick-skinned Casey stands,
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With his legs like redwood tree trunks and his arms like iron bands,
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In his rusted battered breastplate and his dented beaten helm,
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The people stared in shock to think that _he_ might rule the realm!
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The first bout of the final round is sword and shield -- they fight,
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And in less than thirty seconds Casey's killed the shining knight.
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A stunned and stony silence falls upon the gathered crowd
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For the thought of Casey as their king could _never_ be allowed.
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The second bout is Percy's choice -- "Try florentine," he calls,
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And it takes six solid cup-shots until Casey finally falls.
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The collective crowd assembled just lets out a thankful sigh,
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While storm-clouds gather overhead and darkness fills the sky.
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The third bout's fought with great sword -- when conflict does commence
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Sir Percy tries katana moves while Casey tries to fence,
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Once Casey's blade flies from his hand, twice more, then combat stops.
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A loss, by technicality, since Casey'd had three drops.
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The fourth fight's back to sword and shield where Casey has few peers,
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Sir Percy goes down quickly -- helm shots ringing in his ears.
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The spectators are dumbstruck for _King Casey's_ spectre looms,
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While overhead in jet-black clouds the thunder rolls and booms.
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The final form is polearm which is Casey's favorite style,
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And Percy wasn't bad, but hadn't used it in a while,
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All watch in expectation as the herald shouts "Oyez!"
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The fighters tense in readiness, "Lay on!" the marshalls say.
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Sir Percy tried a subtle shot that proved a grave mistake,
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For it left a hole unguarded half as wide as Cooper's Lake,
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Now Mighty Casey plants his feet, sky high his glaive does go,
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And now the air is shattered by the force of Casey's blow.
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Sir Percy proved a wise, just king -- a ruler of renown,
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But he never let us all forget 'bout Casey at the Crown.
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He often stops beside the grave when near it on a trip,
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And hears old Casey's ghostly voice reciting "Light! Glance! Tip!"
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O somewhere in these Laurel lands the sun is shining bright;
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Swords are swinging somewhere, and blows are _truly_ light.
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We never had _King_ Casey, 'cause his fighting got _too_ hot;
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So if _you_ get hit by lightning -- you had _better_ take the shot!
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-------------------------------------------------------------------------
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Bertram of Bearington Copyright 1987 by Dave Schroeder
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Debatable Lands/AEthelmearc/East Carnegie Mellon University
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INTERNET: ds4p@andrew.cmu.edu 412/731-3230 (Home)
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------------------------- PREME * Press On * PREME ----------------------
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