by Thomas Love Peacock (1785–1866)
The mountain sheep are sweeter, [1]
But the valley sheep are fatter; [2]
We therefore deemed it meeter [3]
To carry off the latter. [4]
We made an expedition;
We met a host and quelled it;
We forced a strong position,
And killed the men who held it. [5]
On Dyfed's richest valley,
Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally,
To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;
We met them, and o'erthrew them:
They struggled hard to beat us;
But we conquered them, and slew them.
As we drove our prize at leisure,
The king marched forth to catch us:
His rage surpassed all measure,
But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars;
And, ere our force we led off,
Some sacked his house and cellars,
While others cut his head off. [6]
We there, in strife bewilderin',
Spilt blood enough to swim in:
We orphaned many children,
And widowed many women.
The eagles and the ravens
We glutted with our foemen:
The heroes and the cravens,
The spearmen and the bowmen.
We brought away from battle,
And much their land bemoaned them,
Two thousand head of cattle,
And the head of him who owned them: [7]
Ednyfed, king of Dyfed,
His head was borne before us;
His wine and beasts supplied our feasts,
And his overthrow, our chorus.
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The first poem not written by me to appear on this blog.
Pronunciations: DEEnass. DUVVed. edNUVVed.
Production: the Suno AI allowed me to "stage" this as I never could in the real world:
Performance Notes: As onstage at GenCon, when in troubadour garb I asked the crowd if they'd rather hear a song of war or a song of love, sometimes I knew the answer in advance and this was it. (Sometimes, as for a little old lady in a park, I ended up singing "A Lonely Lover's Lament".) Peacock, that sublime satirist, called this "the sum and substance of military glory", and of course it's about a Welsh sheep-raid. Sheer arrogant bombast must be the note of the song.
[1] Look and gesture "uphill" with one hand, kiss the fingertips of the other hand to sign "delicious".
[2] Look and gesture the opposite direction, "downhill", and with the previous gesturing hand now rub your belly to sign "filling".
[3] Look back and forth, deciding.
[4] Turn "downhill", briefly pantomime picking up a sheep and carrying it off under your arm.
[5] Stab with imaginary sword, lift foot and push imaginary body off your sword. Likewise pantomime subsequent battles.
[6] After "others", pull up your own hair or cap-and-all with one hand; chop at your own throat with the upper edge of the other; hoarsely sing "cut 'is 'ead off"!
[7] I've often thought of getting a prop decapitated head, woeful face, drooping beard, long black hair (no crown, that's doubtless worn by the bandit chief now!) -- but pantomiming with my hands as I "picked him up", turning him alternately to face the audience, myself, then the audience again, mocking him with my own expressions, has always seemed to bring poor Ednyfed... not to life, poor fellow, but very much present.
