He's off to the tourney again.
This time he assures me he'll win.
It's not that I doubt him, or don't care about him
But I know that his chances are slim.
He loves the grand show of the field.
His arms blazoned bright on his shield,
As he couches his lance, he hasn't a chance,
And alas, once again, he must yield.
He wished a rich tabard be sewn,
That on it his arms might be shown,
In silk and in satin, with mottoes in Latin,
And to make it I took out a loan.
Chorus
I stay home and manage his lands.
English work busies my hands.
I tally the flocks and the trade through the docks
And finance his tourney demands.
I make sure the storerooms are full.
I get the best price for our wool.
I see to our needs and weigh out the seeds,
And take fee for the stud of our bull.
Chorus
The ransoms are great, I've been told
My harness a small bag of gold
And I've paid even larger to buy back my charger
Where the ransom comes let me be told.
I thought that the answer was clear.
I double the number each year
Of sheep and of beef, that graze on your fief,
They pay for your losses, my dear.
Rule 1.1
No copies of these lyrics in font larger than 10 point (or 20 point if specific permission is given by the author) are to be brought to an official event or gathering of the SCA, Inc, unless the performer has completed at least 2/3 of the suggestions in the Steps to Memorization” section at Conditions for the Printing of Lyrics for the Songs of Andrixos / Steve Boyd