Our tunics
are not red, but greenwood cloth.
Before King
Charles was hidden in the oak
From hunted
venison we made our broth.
Our tunics
are not red, but greenwood cloth
Some said
we coursed for human game, but no!
From hunted
venison we made our broth
Though
outlawed our repast was even so.
Some said
we coursed for human game, but no!
If blood
was shed it was not for our feast
Though
outlawed our repast was even so.
When
earlier still we sought the Questing Beast
If blood
was shed it was not for our feast
Our feast
was tales and wassails, never gore
When
earlier still we sought the Questing Beast
As others
of our Knighthood had before
Our feast
was tales and wassails, never gore
We did not
flinch from death, for all must die
As others
of our Knighthood had before
We met that
bony rider, sword in hand
We did not
flinch from death, for all must die
Though
blood of Pelinore, our hunt's but flesh
We met that
bony rider, sword in hand
Our limbs
in armour or in chain-mails' mesh
Though
blood of Pelinore, our hunt's but flesh
We have no
bloody secret draft to sip
Our limbs
in armour or in chain-mails' mesh
Are not
suffused by waters from Grail's lip
We have no
bloody secret draft to sip
Rob and the
Marion live not to this hour
Are not
suffused by waters from Grail's lip
Traditions
lived where secrets always sour
Rob and the
Marion live not to this hour
Before King
Charles was hidden in the oak
Traditions
lived where secrets always sour
Why yes,
our hunt traditions are quite 'folk'
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