The Shire of the Mire Songbook
Literary Guide to Local Swamp Life

The Shire of the Mire
(Ship Titanic)

by Daedra

Once an archer known as Alric beheld a barren land
And thought he'd change it to a shire grand,
Well the lord only knows why, but he made a gallant try
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

**It gets damp, wet, and cold (2x)
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.
Out in Thescorre there is rain, sleet, and hail-
Mud or snow clog every trail
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

Well Alric and his lady, they built a hold so fair,
But the strangest people joined that loyal pair-
Folk who'd brave the mud and snow just to help a shire grow
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

Then McAltin was their leader, a very feisty lad,
Whose swordplay was better than his puns were bad
(Which is saying quite a bit, folks who've heard his puns admit)
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.


Now Bohemund's their turkey, an able lord indeed,
Who came to rule in Thescorre's time of need.
Should his patients e'er run low, he creates more with just one blow,
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

Gisela's never listless, at their events at least,
and she's just the one to help prepare a feast.
If you've ever seen her smile, then you know that life's worthwhile
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.


Heralds lead a hard life, as Friederick will attest.
If he ever arm, he'll never get a rest,
for some lords are eager to...avenge intro's that he blew,
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

There's a harper they call Daedra, who's always out of tune,
And forever hoping she'll sound better soon.
Still she must've had some smarts, she's their Mistress of the Arts.
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.


Kirk Robyn is a minstrel, from Forest Webb he came,
And he wishes that they'd learn to spell his name
Now he's Sigismund's right hand. Flowers bloom at his command.
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

Chadyoyck is a fighter who causes others strife,
Spreads the competition thin with Butterknife.
If you'd rather not be killed, you should join his armorers' guild
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.


Edwina is a vision of wit and grace and charm,
But if you betray her, she'll sweetly break your arm.
Survey jokes fly far and wide, but she takes it all in stride.
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

Thora Haakonsdagger has nothing up her sleeve,
But a small sword in her boot, I do believe.
If you dance with her in May, then be careful what you say,
In the Shire of the Mire - I am told.

The Ballad of Thescorre's Bowmen
(The Ballad of Robin Hood)

by Ketil of the Middle Mountain

The captain called the archers
to the swampland lush and green.
They stood and fired an end
For shire and king.
Then sighed the captain as he
Plucked six arrows from his spleen,
"Arch'ry in dear Thescorre's
But a dream.

**Bows are braced, shafts are nocked
Arms are poised to fire.
Arrpws fly, all eyes watch as
Fletching marks the mire.
Targets needn't fear
'Cause no arrow will come near.
What the hell,
Just as well,
New war next year.

They loaded up their quivers
With more shafts both straight and true.
They painted target faces
Bright and new.
They stood at twenty paces
And once more arrows flew.
And where those arrows landed --
Not a clue.


The Pennsic now is over
And the tale is sad to tell.
The arch'ry didn't go exactly well.
But 'twasn't really all bad --
When East fired at ring of bell,
The targets were safe,
But twenty Middle bowmen fell.


by Ewan the Mad Wanderer

**He sated home at Lalange's place
When the Legions marched to Rimini.
He knew whe soon would forget his face
If her marched with his shield to Rimini
(Those poor dumb slobs at Rimini).
And he missed Britain and he missed Gaul
And the Pontic shores where the snowflakes fall
White as the neck of Lalange,
Colder by far than Lalange.
He didn't need Britain, he didn't need Gaul,
He stayed at home and best of all,
He got Lalange.

As ye trample the Via Aurelia,
As thousands have trampled before,
Remember the luck of the courtier
Who thought that the Legion's a bore.
He carried a paunch on his belly
And his feet were inclined to get sore,
But he spent his nights with Lalange,
and his days with his favorite whore.

The prospect of joining the Legion's
Enough to make any man quail.
You spend your time scanning the heather
While constantly thinking of tail.
You fight off the Celts and the Teutons,
And you drink down your watery ale;
But a life far away from a woman
Is no life for anyone male.

It's forty-five marches to Narva,
On the road that leads northward from Rome.
And a thousand of those weary paces
I another long mile from home.
But whether I sleep with a damsel,
Or I go to the pillows alone,
I'd rather wake up in my bedroom
Than out in a tent on the Rhone.

The Joy After the Fight
(I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face)

by Austin Chadyoyck of Normandy

I've grown accustomed to the pain,
It's always with me night and day.
I've grown accustomed to the way it arrives each time I lose:
The sword, the impact, the pain, the bruise,
Are second nature to me now-
When I breathe out and I breathe in.
I was completely unbruised before my very first event.
Surely I could always be that way again, and yet...
I've grown accustomed to the aches
Accustomed to the bruises,
Accustomed to the pain.

When I breathe out and I breathe in.
I was completely unbruised before my very first event.
Surely I could always be that way again, and yet...
I've grown accustomed to the aches,
Accustomed to the bruises,
Accustomed to the pain.

Wish You'd Be My Lady Fair
(Wish I Had a Troubador)

by Friederich vander Delft

Wish you'd be my lady fair
and sit here by my side
T'inspire my fighting skill
And in my soul abide.
If you'd be my lady fair
Giving me your grace
Then I would fight for you
Until I died.

Wish I had your favor sweet
To wear upon my breast;
I would fight for only you
I'd press on without rest.
If I had your favor sweet
I'd bear it all my days,
And I would fight for you
Until I died.

Wish I had your love
I'd be your lord.
Your love would keep
Me safe from every sword.
Even if there came a time of dying,
I'd keep trying.

Wish I had a knight's white belt
To wear around my waist,
Symbol of the battles fought
And dangers that I faced.
If I had a knight's white belt,
I'd wear it in your name,
And I would fight for you
Until I died.

Repeat Refrain

Repeat Stanza 1

Lorimer's Last Stand
(Down in the Valley)

by Daedra

Come to the melee, see the dust rise.
Fighters are dropping, see how each dies.
See how each dies, Sir, see how each dies-
Fighters are dropping, dropping like flies.

See the swords flashing, blood soaks the field.
Three men left standing, which side will yield?
Which side will yield, Sir, which side will yield?
Sooner or later, one side must yield.

Shield arms are sagging, hear the lords groan.
Teammates all dying, MacAltin's alone.
MacAltin's alone, Sir, MacAltin's alone-
Just like the last time, he's left on his own.

The other side may win, the other side may win-
But hi-ho the derri-o MacAltin stands alone.

The Page's Song
(Row, Row, Row Your Boat)

by Daedra

I am just a page;
But the way it looks,
Some of the folk that I serve
Think I'm several books.

Where, oh where's that page?
Hear the nobles call.
Running here and running there,
I'm all over the hall.

Oh, What a Beautiful Morning
(mundane song of the same name)

by Ewan the Mad Wanderer

Oh what a beautiful morning,
Oh what a beautiful day
I have a beautiful feeling
I shall kill someone today.

Oh it may be a Saxon or Frenchman,
Or maybe some minor lord's henchmen,
Some churchman in abbey just might be my foe;
I'll slaughter and pillage where ever I go.

There's a thin film of blood on my dagger;
There's a thin film of blood on my dagger.
Both lordling and squire my blade bites shall feel.
My sword's edge has notches from chopping through steel.

It may be an abbey or village
Or perhaps I will ravage a village.
With bright roaring crackle the golden flames soar.
When you've one castle you'll want to burn more.
And when I have done with the slaughter,
I'll ravish the Baron's own daughter.
When nuns see me coming they all turn to flee;
If they leave sheep behind them, that's just fine with me.

The Lost Lord of Aachental
by Daedra

Oh my lord, oh my lord,
I have tidings sad I fear:
Our tourney is beginning
And Lord Mordreth isn't here.

Sent ye maps, Scribe, and directions
Made extremely plain and clear?
Yes, indeed, Sire, that I did, Sire,
But Lord Mordreth isn't here

In a tavern, in a cavern,
In the middle of the night,
Lord Mordreth was discovered-
He had missed the map's first right.

All ye ladyse who have lovers
That ye wish would disappear,
Let them ride with Lord Mordreth
-Ye have nothing more to fear.

Vita Canem Feminam Est
(Il Est Ne)
by Daedra

When daggers rank with Caesar's blood
Made swiss cheese out of his chest,
"Et tu", he cried, and one thing more:
"Vita Canem feminam est."

Roland's troops were cut to shreds
And he found himself sore pressed...
Too late then to call for help:
"Vita Canem feminam est."

Saint Joan felt the kindling catch
Though no sins had she confessed.
Heaven heard her dying words:
"Vita Canem feminam est."

When Alric comes to his wits end
From labors without a rest,
Those four words express it all:
"Vita Canem feminam est."

So, when you've lost at twice the cost,
And your life's a cruel jest,
Face the farce with Alric's thought:
"Vita Canem feminam est."

Beyond the Sea
(She's Far Away)

by Friederich vander Delft

Beyond the sea, far from me, lies my lady's bower;
Journey long, castle strong, in the highest tower.
I would give a fortune, a magic spell to cast-
Make me fly with wings of eagles, o'er the guard-tower fast.

But 'til then I'm on Crusade
She's at her castle in the Homeland
Watching sunsets blazing in the hills.

Far away, many days, on my errant journey;
Armed for war, evermore, fighting every tourney.
Taking wounds and giving honor, struggling for a prize-
All the jewels and crests I'd give for favour from her eyes.

Beyond the sea, far from me, my heart is imprison'd;
Keeping wait is its fate for midon's decision.
I will travel through the world, a knight unknown and lonely-
Giving up all comforts, striving for her pleasure only.

Beyond the sea, far from me, is my lady's bower;
Journey long, castle strong, in the highest tower.
I would give a fortune, a mage to cast a spell:
The South Wind for to warm her and my lover to her to tell.

The Grand Melee
(The Green Berets)

by Daedra

Fighting soldiers from East Realm,
Fearless souls with sword and helm,
Men who mean their foes to slay;
Entered in the Grand Melee.

Plate and mail upon their chests,
These are men- the East Realm's best!
One-hundred Mid-realmers they'll slay,
So to win the Grand Melee.

By the lists a lady waits;
Her gallant Lord has met his fate.
He was killed by Seldom Rest,
Leaving her this last request:

Set my son the Melee quest-
Let him learn from East Realm's best,
Teach him to be brave and true,
And run like hell from Duke Andrew.

Moose Battle

by Kirk Robyn of Forest Webb

I'm being challenged to a moose battle-
Moose battle, moose battle (2x)

If I ever lose my shield-
I'll grip my sword, but I won't yield.
Yes if I ever lose my shield,
I won't have to block no more.

If I ever lose my sword,
Like an apple I'll be cored.
Yes if I ever lose my sword,
I won't have to slash no more.

If I ever lose my mace,
I'll wish my foe were in my place.
Yes if I ever lose my mace,
I won't have to pound no more.

If I ever lose my arm,
I'll look on that with some alarm.
Yes if I ever lose my arm,
I won't have to swing no more.

If I ever lose my leg,
I might crawl, but I won't beg.
If I ever lose my leg,
I won't have to run no more.

If I ever lose my life,
Don't you grieve, it won't cause strife,
Cause if I ever lose my life,
We'll rest up and start once more.

Merowald's Last Stand
(General Custer)

by Friederich vander Delft

Sylvaeston told me we were going for a ride
Over in the Barony-Marche where the grass is tall and dried.
"Soon as I get my favors," he said, "we will win the war;
Go out and tell the Dark Hoard what they are fighting for."

And he said, "Give somebody a knighthood,
Give somebody a Dragon's Tooth.
Tell 'em about the mead at the end of the battle,
And about the kissing booth,
And save the King, forsooth!"

Out in the ugly swamp-land, I thought I heard a bird.
One old North Woods fighter went pale, said, "What was that I heard?"
15,000 Tuchuks a-stompin' through the pass!
Tell that idiot dancing fool to get us out and fast!"


Dawn come up like Dagan, and wat'd'ya suppose I seed?
Every Tuchuk fighter in history tapping his toes at me.
Things were looking hairy, some of them old boys were large!
Then wat'd'ya suppose old Merowald done? He went and holler'd:



But nobody tole the Tuchuks who the Marshal was.
The commenced to stick to us like peaches stick to fuzz.
Nobody tole the Tuchuks they was supposed to die.
Just as they did old Merowald in, what'd'ya suppose he cried?


Sing a Song of Thescorre
by Daedra

There's little science in Thescorre,
Less knowledge of the arts,
An outpost we may be indeed-
The smallest in these parts.
The other lands much larger loom,
And make us seem upstarts,
Not a land exists today
But owns our valiant hearts.

Our Lordes are fond of low-cut gowns,
Their tastes we do respect.
Our grace and Goddes are all that stay
Disaster we expect.
But should disaster ere occur,
Our virtue to protect-
We carry daggers sharp and keen,
And knights are circumspect.

Onion! Onions! Thescorre cries,
They are our favorite spice.
For soups or pies or running eyes
They're really very nice...
But enough of onion bread,
Feed it to the mice!
Failing that, embalm the dead
In onion sauce and ice.

Iron Maiden
by Daedra

I who fought at Rysleagh and Bricht Mor,
Then tended the wounded and dying,
I who ran household and drank deep of books,
Now find myself constantly sighing.

I who regarded the others who clung
and hung on their Lordes as mere babyse,
Have come to be one of those weak minded maids,
One of those lingering ladyse.

Soft grows my voice, my thoughts seem too slow,
my feet tred lightly on air.
Oh now do I wait for the poets approach,
to summon the gown I will wear.

Mead and the Maid
by Daedra

My Ladies of thy lords beware
When they would pour you mead.
I'd tell you what they're after,
But there surely is no need.
They've found that mead has uses
As any maiden grants-
But shun the skunk who'd get you drunk
in every circumstance.

My Ladies, of the lords take care
When mead has stewed their brains,
For many a mighty warrior's felled
By the "just a drop" he drains.
Ah yes mead has its uses,
As any maiden grants-
T'is wond'rous, aye, when flying high
How many lords will dance.

If you've a plain or humbe mien,
The mead may serve you best.
Just draw your lord a flagon full,
The mead will do the rest.
Ah yes mead has its uses,
As any maiden grants-
No purer grace will light your face
Or do more to enhance.

My lords, regard the golden flask
With no certain dread,
Lest waking you discover that
You're going to be wed.
Ah yes mead has its uses,
As any maiden grants-
Be ware the lass who fills your glass,
She seeks more than romance.

Whatever else t'is to be said,
I give the drink its due.
Meade is a pleasant nectar
Of chaste and seemly hue.

Ah yes mead has its uses,
As any maiden grants-
I'd be the first to quench my thirst
But given half a chance.

The Eagle and the Bull
by Daedra

Oh hark ye now that trembling in the ground,
As doth foretell the fall of passioned hooves?
And hear his rival's battle cry resound
When sweeps the regal shadow o'er the roofs?

In vain he stamps the constant earth, whose grip
Prevents his leaping straightway to the sky,
So scars elusive air with tail-like whip,
And calls his chosen foe to come and die.

Whereat the feathered minion of the air
But taunts the upflung horns ungainly thrust
That heedless of the talons raking bare,
Would snatch the agile warrior could they just...
The grind each fragile bone, in turn, to dust.

But who shall say one's triumph is in store,
When salted wine flows free on either side-
And neither will concede, though grievous sore,
His wounds be any greater than his pride?

Thus fight they on, two strangers unto fear,
Whilst earth and sky are riven to their core.
Each one supreme acknowledged in his sphere,
The Eagle and the Bull have gone to war!

From the Lady to her Love, as He Walks the Midnight Watch in Winter
by Daedra

How slow the nightwatch cry their hours.
Oh hasten back ye sonne,
For darkness is no fried to me
Gin I maun sleep alonne.

When sweep mightwinds thru caer towers
And speak of fiersome storm,
I pray the goddes that you were here
Beside me safe and warm.

Nor would I send you forth again
Though sonne were overhead.
T'is time enough to rise in Spring
From wintering a-bed.

A Devil of a Conversation
by Daedra

Lammas last near Drunemeton,
They say a simple shamefast nun
Was halted in the convent park
By a stranger sinister and dark.

"Why, Sister, have you no hello
For one whome you must surely know?"
The holy sister could not see-
"I know not who you claim to be."

"But, Sister, were you unawares?
Whenever you were late for prayers,
I whispered leasings in your ears
And tempted you these many years."

Well then," the nun gave him reply,
"Your voice has changed or else you lie,
For if all you have said is true,
Then you must be Father Andrew."

Reveller's Beware
(verses: The Wild Colonial Boy)

by Daedra

When serving wench by candle glow
Inquires what you need,
Restrain your leer, lest ye should hear
"Shut up and drink your mead!"

Chorus 1
Shut up and drink your mead,
Drink your mead and shut up.
It's all the same, but in heaven's name
Drink your mead and shut up.

When playing cards with sharps and flats,
Should violence erupt,
Lest ye be cleft by oaken staff-
Drink your mead and shut up.

Chorus 2
Drink your mead and shut up,
Shut up and drink your mead.
It's all the same, but in heaven's name-
Shut up and drink your mead!

When conversations heated grow,
Don't try to intercede.
Consider well, they're bound to yell
"Shut up and drink your mead!"

Chorus 1

When puns start flying fast and low
And growing more corrupt,
Don't make things worse, please heed this verse-
Drink your mead and shut up.

Chorus 2

The Little Drummer
by Highland Mary

I had a little drummer
No bigger than my thumb,
I put him in a pint pot
And bade him beat his drum.
He beat the drum so loudly,
He thumped so full of glee,
He frightened all the warriors
In Finnvarr's army.
The Middle's souts and infantry
Came trampling on the ground,
They really thought the enemy
Was coming by the sound;
But when they'd seen the drummer
And learned his little game,
Then right about the army went
As quickly as it came.

The Wicken Well
by Daedra

A well there was in Fennind Down
Whose name had gained some small renown.
For in the waters of that well
A spirit wise was said to dwell.

Unto that well a maiden came,
"A knight," she said, "My heart hath claimed
With words of love so sweet to me,
But I must know: Speaks he truly?"

"Oh waters of the Wicken Well,
Ye undine fair, I pray thee tell.
My golden ring I give to thee-
His love is far more dear to me."

Then in the well, her love's blyth face
Saw she, and felt his warm embrace.
"My lady, love no longer doubt
I heard thy words, as I rode out."

Still stands the well in Fennind Down
And daily gains still more renown;
For she believed all he had said,
And they, last May, were gaily wed.

by Friederich vander Delft

Across the wind-swept dunes,
the white wastes, winter-gripped;
Through the jaws, the terrible fangs,
'gainst the bitter blows of gales-
the serpent's frozen flame;
In the sun's bleak shining
to slay the wint'ry beast,
Dragon of ice, heat of cold:

I venture forth, her name my shield-
Toward my lady, soul-keeper;
I must fly to the warmth of her heart:
errant knight, through winter to spring.

Historical Notes
by Ewan and Sewon

Our seneschal's name it is Alric,
A mighty thewed archer is he.
He can hit anything that's not moving
And no further in paces than three.

The Ladies abound in the kingdom-
Some willing, some wanton, all fair,
But they don't have a chance with poor Ewan
When he gets busy worshipping Pehr.

Variation 2
Now Ladies abound in the kingdom-
Some willing, some wanton, I've found.
But they have no chance with poor Ewan
As long as his Malkin's around.

Before the Fair
by Daedra

Will you rise and walk with me,
In this early morning wood?
Sweet the earth and sweet the sky,
Light is come and life is good.

Ashes from the night before,
Stars, and nightwinds slowly fade.
Drying dew a fruit-fall brings,
In our waking woodland glade.

Hark to call of mourning dove
While white mist still shrouds the pond.
Ere our camp begins to stir,
Walk with me while sleep they on.

Other voices shake the spell;
Time for food and morning fire.
One by one our friends emerge;
Time to share you with our shire.

New Love
by Daedra

He: Would you leave your castle's high-walled tower?
She: Would you leave your forest shire?

He: For the love of a maid a-flower, I would.
She: For the love of a lad a-fire, I would.
They: New love, new love, new love, new love - Dying of desire.

He: Would you stay with me a day, an hour?
She: Would you tarry till the stars retire?


He: Would you weigh the loss of all your dower?
She: Would you spurn the wealth you could acquire?


They: New love, new love, new love, new love - Dying of desire!