[Starless night over a clearing by the edge of dark woods. Grig and Sir Bastien are tied up to an oak tree, loudly exchanging retorts. Some distance away by a campfire, four guards are preparing to bed down.] 1st Guard. Oi! Shut up you two! [Grudging silence falls. Some minutes later, the guards are fast sleep. Enter a hunchbacked, evil-looking Witch.] Witch. Rabble, dabble, play some scrabble, Hocus pocus, babble babble. Eye of newt, what do I see! But a ruesome twosome roaming free, Not like these two, these turkey geese, Who travel shall, but piece by piece To a castle far away Where they'll be served up on a tray To the moat monster! hah hah hee hee... Grig. Where got thou these predictions foul, To taunt us with in clam'rous howl? What evil master bids you speak, O' wretched crone, o' toothless freak? My friend and I but pause for rest In nature's warm and leafy nest. These binding ropes which rub us raw Do keep our faces from the floor. See yon guards a-snoring there? They treat us with amazing care! And so your noisy rough intrusion Be as wanted as a brain contusion. Now get thee gone, go blight some crops, Find thy sisters and ride some mops, Thou loathsome witch, thou pinched-skin hag With watery eyes and breasts that sag Down to the very nether regions of hell - Witch. Mealy-mouthed cricket! I'll turn you into a cast-iron pot Or better yet, leave you here to rot! [Witch makes to exuent left] Sir Bastien. Oh why, sir bard, must you insult With unpleasant, life-threatening result Our single hope for speedy release. Not another word, I beg you, peace. A moment please, dear gentle hag Ignore the bard, the choleric nag, Schooled in nothing but noxious rhymes With which to perpetrate his sland'rous crimes. You who bless this starless night With lithsome gait and visage bright Must sure a mite of pity take On me and this bedraggled rake. Free us now and by my sword We'll call you Lady, or even Lord And joyfully serve your present whim, Your linens wash and hedges trim. Witch. Tongue of bat and skin of worm Toe of sheep and cell of germ, Words do bind as fast as ropes And even as a forehead slopes Now must you do my every bidding Come rain, come shine, come cruel ribbing By peers and peasants, by petty kings Who shall just keep laughing at you. Grig. Oh just get us out of here, you old bat. [The Witch unties the knight and the bard, who stealthily retrieve their belongings. Exuent Witch, Gudo and Grig.] copyright 1997 Gerald Tan & Nigel Poh Click on the dragon to proceed with the tale... ... the dagger to go to the previous page ... and the snoozing gnome to return to the Home Page. Currently playing Johannes Brahm's Hungarian Dance No.5 for piano and violin.