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Winnie The Pooh

(Richard M. Sherman and Robert B. Sherman)
Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff
He's Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Willy nilly silly old bear
Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Tubby little cubby all stuffed with fluff
He's Winnie the Pooh
Winnie the Pooh
Willy nilly silly old bear

song performed by Carly Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Hoostay Moonookay Pooh Pooh

Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay...

Me say lemonade.
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
Is okay.
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
To sip in Summer.
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
As I drift under tree shade!

Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay...

And I may...
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
Lay all day.
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
Free of drama.
(hoostay moonookay,
pooh pooh)
And being lazy that way!

Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay moonookay,
Pooh pooh.
Hoostay...

And I may...
Reach for peaches.
Getting tanned...
On the beach.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lord Robert

Tall and young and light of tongue,
Gallantly riding by wood and lea,
He was ware of a maiden fair
And turned and whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)

Day by day she walks that way
Never hoping by wood or lea
To be ware of the stranger gay
Who turned and whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?

Chance for chance he rides that way,
And again by wood or by lea
He was ware of the maiden fair,
And again he whispered, 'Remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)

Chance for chance that way rode he,
And again where he was ware,
Debonnair to that maiden fair
He turned and said, 'You remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;
Under their feet where the cross-roads meet
Dost thou think I can lie and lie,
Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert?)

Chance for chance on a summer-day,
Meeting her still by wood and lea,
He leaped gay from his gallant grey
And said, 'I see you remember me.'
(Oh Lord Robert, Lord Robert, Lord Robert,
Oh Lord Robert, 'tis I, 'tis I;

[...] Read more

poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Silly, Silly Fool

(kenneth gamble / leon huff)
Such a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i
Oh, i, just a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i
Hey, I should have never fallen
Back in love with you
Knowin how you get a pleasure
Breaking my poor heart in two
You made it sound so convincin
When you said
Im your woman, youre my man
Now I really need you
And I sit here a loser again
I guess Im just a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh i
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, fool am i, mmm
I should have never trusted
In my heart to lead the way
Now my mind is all busted
Thats a fools price to pay
You made it sound so convincin
When you said youd never, never go away
I should have never listened
To anything you had to say
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, yes I am
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh
Such a silly, silly, dilly, silly, dilly fool am i, oh yeah
Im such a silly, silly, silly, silly, silly fool am i, oh yes I am
Im such a silly, silly, dilly, silly, dilly, silly fool am i, oh yeah
Im such a silly, dilly, silly, dilly, silly fool am i, oh
Silly, dilly

song performed by Dusty Springfield
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Us Two

Wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
Whatever I do, he wants to do,
"Where are you going today?" says Pooh:
"Well, that's very odd 'cos I was too.
Let's go together," says Pooh, says he.
"Let's go together," says Pooh.

"What's twice eleven?" I said to Pooh.
("Twice what?" said Pooh to Me.)
"I think it ought to be twenty-two."
"Just what I think myself," said Pooh.
"It wasn't an easy sum to do,
But that's what it is," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what it is," said Pooh.

"Let's look for dragons," I said to Pooh.
"Yes, let's," said Pooh to Me.
We crossed the river and found a few-
"Yes, those are dragons all right," said Pooh.
"As soon as I saw their beaks I knew.
That's what they are," said Pooh, said he.
"That's what they are," said Pooh.

"Let's frighten the dragons," I said to Pooh.
"That's right," said Pooh to Me.
"I'm not afraid," I said to Pooh,
And I held his paw and I shouted "Shoo!
Silly old dragons!"- and off they flew.

"I wasn't afraid," said Pooh, said he,
"I'm never afraid with you."

So wherever I am, there's always Pooh,
There's always Pooh and Me.
"What would I do?" I said to Pooh,
"If it wasn't for you," and Pooh said: "True,
It isn't much fun for One, but Two,
Can stick together, says Pooh, says he. "That's how it is," says Pooh.

poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Grandmother

I.
And Willy, my eldest-born, is gone, you say, little Anne?
Ruddy and white, and strong on his legs, he looks like a man.
And Willy's wife has written: she never was over-wise,
Never the wife for Willy: he would n't take my advice.

II.
For, Annie, you see, her father was not the man to save,
Had n't a head to manage, and drank himself into his grave.
Pretty enough, very pretty! but I was against it for one.
Eh!--but he would n't hear me--and Willy, you say, is gone.

III.
Willy, my beauty, my eldest-born, the flower of the flock;
Never a man could fling him: for Willy stood like a rock.
`Here's a leg for a babe of a week!' says doctor; and he would be bound,
There was not his like that year in twenty parishes round.

IV.
Strong of his hands, and strong on his legs, but still of his tongue!
I ought to have gone before him: I wonder he went so young.
I cannot cry for him, Annie: I have not long to stay;
Perhaps I shall see him the sooner, for he lived far away.

V.
Why do you look at me, Annie? you think I am hard and cold;
But all my children have gone before me, I am so old:
I cannot weep for Willy, nor can I weep for the rest;
Only at your age, Annie, I could have wept with the best.

VI.
For I remember a quarrel I had with your father, my dear,
All for a slanderous story, that cost me many a tear.
I mean your grandfather, Annie: it cost me a world of woe,
Seventy years ago, my darling, seventy years ago.

VII.
For Jenny, my cousin, had come to the place, and I knew right well
That Jenny had tript in her time: I knew, but I would not tell.
And she to be coming and slandering me, the base little liar!
But the tongue is a fire as you know, my dear, the tongue is a fire.

VIII.
And the parson made it his text that week, and he said likewise,
That a lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies,
That a lie which is all a lie may be met and fought with outright,
But a lie which is part a truth is a harder matter to fight.

IX.
And Willy had not been down to the farm for a week and a day;

[...] Read more

poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Sumthin' Othuh Than Yo' Nah-Stay

Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay.
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.

Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay.
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.

I want something lifting to a higher degree.
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.

I want something lifting to a higher degree.
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.

Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay.
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.

I want something lifting to a higher degree.
Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay.
I've gotta reach a peak to please a 'bon appétit-ah'.
Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay!
'Cause yo' pooh-pooh sicks a doo-doo,
And yo' doo-doo reeks a pooh-pooh.
Gimme sumthin' othuh than yo' nah-stay!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Little Willy

Little willy knows a secret
Little willy likes to lie
He is getting so excited
Willys a very emotional guy
Little willy gets nervous, but he aint super shy
Unless some stuck-up skirt makes fun of his size
Chorus
Little willy likes to bang his drum
(little willy likes to play in the band)
Little willy he aint so dumb
(little willy shrinks up when the girls get chilly
Takes a whole lot of lovin just to warm up willy)
Rap
Little willy doesnt get nervous but he aint shy
Unless lovely ladies make fun of his size
Little willy likes to bang his drum
Little willys in the band
Little willy, he aint so dumb
Willy shrinks up when the girls get chilly
Takes a whole lot of lovin just to warm up willy
Willy, dont cry
Willy, go zip up your fly
Chorus repeat

song performed by Poison
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Metaphors, Similes and stuff - Pooh Bear Explains

Christopher Robin and Pooh walked slowly down the path in the woods, treading on the occasional crackly twig.

'CR...' said Pooh, 'What's a Poeh Tree? Is it the same as a Poem, or a hum? '

'Well, Pooh, the very very best Poeh Tree in the world is your own:

'Isn't it funny
how bears like hunny?

It's what I call rum-ti-tum-itry. Everyone likes rum-ti-tum-itry. Even grown-ups. Rum-ti-tum-itry is friendly. Rum-ti-tum-itry is like two friends walking together. Like you and me, Pooh. Which makes you the very best rum-ti-tum-iter in the world...'

'That's tum as in...? ' asked the Very Stout Bear, cautiously.

'As in a Hum' said Christopher Robin. 'But then there's other things in Poetry such as Truth, and Other People Reading It And Nodding. And Similes. And Metaphors. There's a lot in Poetry.'

'What's a Simile, CR? ' asked Pooh. It sounded like what bees said just before they landed on something, like a hunny jar, or Pooh's nose.

'It's when you say something is like something else, to help people imagine it.' said CR.

Pooh had a Think. A Pondery sort of Think.

'Like perhaps - 'happiness is like hunny'? ' asked Pooh tentatively. He suddenly felt very five-to-four-ish at this Thought.

'That's exactly it, Pooh' said Christopher Robin happily. 'Or even sometimes the other way around! '

Pooh felt warm inside - almost like after eating honey - knowing now that a Simile wasn't a threat any more. 'What's a Metaphor, CR? '

'That's rather more difficult, Pooh. It's when you say something is something else, and people know what you mean somehow, and say 'Aha! ' and nod their heads...

Pooh had a longer, Pondery sort of Think.

'Like... teatime means honey? ' he offered hesitantly. Though he knew this was Truth and Other People Nodding, anyway.

'Something like that' said Christopher Robin. 'And then...' he said carefully, in case it was a bit too much for Beloved Bear for one day, but wanting to tell him all the same, 'there's the Extended Metaphor - which I think you might like, Pooh...' (he said hastily In Case) - 'like in a poem by Rupert Brooke, where he says 'Is there hunny still for tea? ' but what he really means is, he's a long way from home and can't get back in time for tea, and feels rather sorry about it...'

'I see...' said Pooh, thoughtfully - like people do who Don't Quite, but like to be polite...

Pooh decided there and then that the Poeh Tree was worth finding, now that he knew three things about it or was it four? It called for an Expedishun.

'Can you talk Poeh Tree, CR? Is it like what we are talking now?

'I think that's called a Prose Poem, Pooh' said Christopher Robin.

*

It was getting near to what Metaphoric Poets like Edward Bear call Time for a Little Something. Christopher Robin and Pooh turned and walked back slowly, the silence broken now and then by a crackly twig just waiting to be trodden on.

Pooh held Christopher's hand tight, as he was doing a lot of Poetic Thinking. He was wondering how anyone could be so far away from home that they couldn't get back home for tea. And worse, not knowing whether there was hunny in the cupboard or not...

But then he had a little five-to-fourish Hum, when he remembered that there was indeed hunny still for tea...

[...] Read more

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Allegany Camp

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amelia earhart in japanese war camp

[...] Read more

poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Expect That Snoop To Pooh Pooh You

Leaking info from a hunch.
Heard when you are passing people.
Only proves you are nosy...
Just like the people you pooh pooh.

Then you get your knickers bunched.
When you are thought to be a gossip.
But what you do to the people,
Expect that to be done right back to you.

When you snoop and pooh pooh people...
Expect that snoop to pooh pooh you.
When you snoop and pooh pooh people...
That pooh pooh that you're doing aint cool.

Leaking info from a hunch.
Heard when you are passing people.
Only proves you are nosy
Just like the people you pooh pooh.

When you snoop and pooh pooh people...
That pooh pooh that you're doing aint cool.
Expect that snoop to pooh pooh you.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On this silly hill

On this silly hill I remember the silly things
That we did
We were so young and we decided to pick
Some ripe mangoes on this silly
Isolated hill away from
Our teasing
Silly friends

And I really liked her a lot
My heart was trembling
Her heart too quivering
We felt we like each other
Feelings like hot chili
Heating our ears

We said we love each other
We promised to love each other
Till the end of days

And so I climbed the mango tree
And picked the most luscious
Delicious mangoes as may be gleaned
From their color and shape
Thinking all the best for her
That I could give
To her

I put all the mangoes in my shirt
And I was silly looking silly like a tray to her
And she picked them one by one
Near my chest lower to my tummy
Nearer to my bulge

I was breathless
As she took more
Ripe mangoes from me
Slowly
Gracefully
Peeling with her mouth and tongue
Licking the yellowish pulp
And she said the mangoes were all
So sweet smelling and delicious
Like me

She was craving
She was raving
I was simply receptive
Giving in
All
To what she wanted

[...] Read more

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Willy The Bullfrog

There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
And all that he did was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And when he wanted to, he would soak up some sun.
But Willy knew that those days were almost gone
When he saw a bullet killing a fawn
And then in his pond went cans of beer
Then a bullet killed another deer
Then Willy who was full of fright
He hid away until the dark of the night
Then he gathered all the animals for a meeting
Saying hunters are not killing us for the eating
But because in our body runs blood of red
And because their guns shoots bullets of lead,
Many years ago in this land
GOD gave us life with the wave of his hand
There were foxes and herds, oxen and birds
But now our population is dwindling down to none
Ever since I saw that bullet killing a fawn
Then all the animals began to shed a tear
Because they knew then, they had a lot of fear
They wouldn't be able to play and have any fun
They will always be chased and on the run.
Then Willy sadly hopped back to his pond
The place where he was very fond
Then Willy began to speak again
And behind him snuck a bunch of men.
Willy shouted this kind of life I cannot hack
A spear then came ripping through Willy's back.
There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
And all that he wanted to do was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And when he wanted to, he would soak up some sun.
But Willy and his friends don't live here anymore
Their home and his pond became a department store
Their homes and their lives they had to give
So people of humanity would have a place to live....
There once was a Bullfrog named Willy the Bullfrog
All that he wanted to do was croak on a log
Sitting around and having fun
And every now and then he would soak up some sun.

RANDY L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Pooh Bear learns about Enjambment

Pooh liked Autumn. Autumn means walking with a scarf round your neck and sometimes seeing your breath in the air like a silent conversation, and wet leaves underfoot and twigs going crackle or sometimes crack! which can be scary if you aren't holding CR's hand.

So here they are, walking together paw-in-hand down the path in Hundred-Acre Wood, and Pooh is humming a happy hum with words looking for it, rather like inquisitive flies that don't quite land on you, wondering if they should stay or not, and how the other flies feel if two of them land together...

'CR..' said Pooh, 'What's en-jamb-ment? ' It sounded like what happens when a wasp gets stuck in a honey jar, or perhaps a marmalade jar.

'That's a long word, Pooh...' said CR, wondering how to explain to a Bear Of Little Brain Yet Poetically Gifted, in the easiest way, when you're not too sure yourself...

'Well...' said CR at last, 'you don't really need it, Pooh, because your Hums all finish each line with a rhyme - so everyone knows just where they are....but suppose you get to the end of a line, and the line looks around like Eeyore does after a big mouthful of juicy autumn grass, and it can't see another line that wants to pair with it in a friendly rhyme.... then if you let it just go on being by itself - like Eeyore - and it's happy to be that way, if occasionally grumbly about it - that's called 'free verse'.

'So then you can just go on and on without thinking about when to stop... but then if you write it down so that other people can read it without getting out of breath, what 'free verse poets' do is like turning over the page of a book and wondering what's coming - like, is there a scary illustration on the next page, or a Surprise, or only a few lines and THE END - what these poets do, is to treat the lines the same way as pages, so that at the end of each line, you wonder a little bit more than usual, what's coming in the next line... instead of yawning and wondering if it's time for A Little Something...'

'I see..' said Pooh, in the way you do when you're a Very Polite Bear but don't really see, not yet anyway...

Then he remembered that poem by Rupert Somebody that CR had told him was an Extended Metaphor, which had that memorable line which the Poetic Bear could have written himself: '...and is there hunny still for tea? ...' though of course Pooh was always careful, himself, to have a line of hunnypots up there where you could see that the future was golden and hunny-coloured...

'CR...' said Pooh in that happy feeling when the brain seems to sorting things out for you, '...so if you wrote carefully in a book, '... and is there hunny still for tea? ...' you could write it with the first line

...and is there...

and people would wonder what you were going to ask them... or

...and is there hunny...

and they'd wonder, what you were asking about hunny; or

... and is there hunny still...

and they might be suddenly worried that the hunny had run out; or just

...and is there hunny still for tea?

which tells them exactly what you're thinking without making them think too much? '

'Exactly! ' said CR (though it sounded more 'exackly' because he was happy and excited) ' You really are a Poetic Bear, Pooh! '

And he squeezed Pooh's paw in a Specially Friendly fashion, and a hunny-coloured glow filled Pooh, as one more Useful Thing about Poetry was put into place...

And as they returned home for a Little Something, Pooh was humming a hum with words flying curiously around it, which would be his first Free Verse Hum With Enjambment which grown-up poets would read with that little extra interest, as they came to the end of each line, and know that it was written by W.Edward Bear Esquire, Poet...

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Brus Book XIII

[Douglas's division attacks]

Quhen thir twa fyrst bataillis wer
Assemblyt as I said you er,
The Stewart Walter that than was
And the gud lord als of Douglas
5 In a bataill, quhen that thai saw
The erle foroutyn dred or aw
Assembill with his cumpany
On all that folk sa sturdely
For till help him thai held thar way
10 And thar bataill in gud aray,
And assemblyt sa hardely
Besid the erle a litill by
That thar fayis feld thar cummyn wele,
For with wapynnys stalwart of stele
15 Thai dang apon with all thar mycht.
Thar fayis resavyt weile Ik hycht
With swerdis speris and with mase,
The bataill thar sa feloune was
And sua rycht gret spilling of blud
20 That on the erd the flousis stud.
The Scottismen sa weill thaim bar
And sua gret slauchter maid thai thar
And fra sa fele the lyvis revyt
That all the feld bludy wes levyt.
25 That tyme thar thre bataillis wer
All syd be sid fechtand weill ner,
Thar mycht men her mony dynt
And wapynnys apon armuris stynt,
And se tumble knychtis and stedis
30 And mony rich and reale wedis
Defoullyt foully under fete,
Sum held on loft sum tynt the suet.
A lang quhill thus fechtand thai war
That men na noyis mycht her thar,
35 Men hard nocht bot granys and dintis
That slew fyr as men slayis on flyntis,
Thai faucht ilk ane sa egerly
That thai maid nother moyis na cry
Bot dang on other at thar mycht
40 With wapnys that war burnyst brycht.
The arowys als sua thyk thar flaw
That thai mycht say wele that thaim saw
That thai a hidwys schour gan ma,
For quhar thai fell Ik undreta
45 Thai left efter thaim taknyng
That sall ned as I trow leching.

[Sir Robert Keith's cavalry disperses the English archers]

[...] Read more

poem by John Barbour
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Dr. Robert

Ring my friend I said you'd call Dr. Robert,
Day or night he'll be there anytime at all Dr. Robert.
Dr. Robert, your a new and better man,
He helps you to understand,
He does everything he can, Dr. Robert.
If your down he'll pick you up Dr. Robert,
Take a drink from his special cup Dr. Robert
Dr. Robert, he's a man you must believe,
Helping everyone in need,
No one can succeed like Dr. Robert
Well, well, well your feeling fine,
Well, well, well, he'll make you Dr. Robert
My friend works for the national health Dr. Robert,
Don't take money to see yourself with Dr. Robert
Dr. Robert, your a new and better man,
He helps you to understand,
He does everything he can Dr. Robert
Well, well, well, your feeling fine,
Well, well, well, he'll make you Dr. Robert
Ring my friend I said you'd call Dr. Robert (2x)
Dr. Robert!

song performed by Beatles
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ben sherman messenger bags
bejui bags
beijo bags

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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Winston Churchill My Kind Of Host

Let us party with Winnie
Winston Churchill.
Perhaps we might partake
of brandy and cigars?

I rather liked the wine tipped
rum flavoured cigars as a lad.

Winnie is my kind of host
Champagne Pol Roger.
Winnie offers guests unlimited
Champagne, Cigars and Brandy.

Champagne chilled a little please
room temperature simply appalls.

Champagne in the refrigerator
an hour and a half before serving please.
Or into the ice bucket with a suitable
ice-water mixture, at least twenty minutes,
before serving really if you please.

Ah a nice vintage-dated Champagne
a high-quality bubbly, let the bottle then,
warm up we don’t want to miss out on,
mature character of seasoned Champagne.

An awful lot of character, particularly
with respect to aroma can be lost,
when wine is served a little too cold,
a little too warm don’t you think?

Champagne and dry white wines of quality,
are best served at a temperature,
between 8ºC and 10ºC perhaps a little higher?

Perhaps you would care for
a Churchill Martini mixed?
Shake gin with cracked ice,
strain into chilled cocktail
glass, & garnish with olive.

Winnie rather likes to drink it while
looking at a bottle of dry vermouth.

Perhaps a Highball then Sir?
Winnie prefers just whiskey & water.
In Africa Winnie adds whiskey,
to make unsavory horrid water potable.

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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Sicilian's Tale; King Robert of Sicily

Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope Urbane
And Valmond, Emperor of Allemaine,
Apparelled in magnificent attire,
With retinue of many a knight and squire,
On St. John's eve, at vespers, proudly sat
And heard the priests chant the Magnificat,
And as he listened, o'er and o'er again
Repeated, like a burden or refrain,
He caught the words, 'Deposuit potentes
De sede, et exaltavit humiles;'
And slowly lifting up his kingly head
He to a learned clerk beside him said,
'What mean these words?' The clerk made answer meet,
'He has put down the mighty from their seat,
And has exalted them of low degree.'
Thereat King Robert muttered scornfully,
''T is well that such seditious words are sung
Only by priests and in the Latin tongue;
For unto priests and people be it known,
There is no power can push me from my throne!'
And leaning back, he yawned and fell asleep,
Lulled by the chant monotonous and deep.

When he awoke, it was already night;
The church was empty, and there was no light,
Save where the lamps, that glimmered few and faint,
Lighted a little space before some saint.
He started from his seat and gazed around,
But saw no living thing and heard no sound.
He groped towards the door, but it was locked;
He cried aloud, and listened, and then knocked,
And uttered awful threatenings and complaints,
And imprecations upon men and saints.
The sounds reëchoed from the roof and walls
As if dead priests were laughing in their stalls.

At length the sexton, hearing from without
The tumult of the knocking and the shout,
And thinking thieves were in the house of prayer,
Came with his lantern, asking, 'Who is there?'
Half choked with rage, King Robert fiercely said,
'Open: 't is I, the King! Art thou afraid?'
The frightened sexton, muttering, with a curse,
'This is some drunken vagabond, or worse!'
Turned the great key and flung the portal wide;
A man rushed by him at a single stride,
Haggard, half naked, without hat or cloak,
Who neither turned, nor looked at him, nor spoke,
But leaped into the blackness of the night,
And vanished like a spectre from his sight.

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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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A Pleasant Ballad Of King Henry II. And The Miller Of Mansfield

Part the First.

Henry, our royall kind, would ride a hunting
To the greene forest so pleasant and faire;
To see the harts skipping, and dainty does tripping,
Unto merry Sherwood his nobles repaire:
Hawke and hound were unbound, all things prepar'd
For the game, in the same, with good regard.

All a long summers day rode the king pleasantlye,
With all his princes and nobles eche one;
Chasing the hart and hind, and the bucke gallantlye,
Till the dark evening forc'd all to turne home.
Then at last, riding fast, he had lost quite
All his lords in the wood, late in the night.

Wandering thus wearilye, all alone, up and downe,
With a rude miller he mett at the last;
Asking the ready way unto faire Nottingham,
'Sir,' quoth the miller, 'I meane not to jest,
Yet I thinke, what I thinke, sooth for to say;
You doe not lightlye ride out of your way.'

'Why, what dost thou tihnk of me,' quoth our king merrily,
'Passing thy judgement upon me so briefe?'
'Good faith,' sayd the miller, 'I meane not to flatter thee,
I guess thee to bee but some gentleman thiefe;
Stand thee backe, in the darke; light not adowne,
Lest that I presently crack thy knaves crowne.'

'Thou dost abuse me much,' quoth the king, 'saying thus;
I am a gentleman; lodging I lacke.'
'Thou hast not,' quoth th' miller, 'one groat in thy purse;
All thy inheritance hanges on thy backe.'
'I have gold to discharge all that I call;
If it be forty pence, I will pay all.'

'If thou beest a true man,' then quoth the miller,
'I sweare by my toll-dish, I'll lodge thee all night.'
'Here's my hand,' quoth the king, 'that was I ever.'
'Nay, soft,' quoth the miller, 'thou may'st be a sprite.
Better I'll know thee, ere hands we will shake;
With none but honest men hands will I take.'

Thus they went all along unto the millers house,
Where they were seething of puddings and souse;
The miller first enter'd in, after him went the king;
Never came hee in soe smoakye a house.
'Now,' quoth hee, 'let me see here what you are.'
Quoth our king, 'Looke your fill, and do not spare.'

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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Samba Loco

Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Aaaaahhhh...
Aaaaahhhh,
Samba loco, baby.
I'm a samba dancing nut!
I love that Latin beat so much...
And the strutting done when I do my stuff.

Samba loco, baby.
I'm a samba dancing nut!
I love that Latin beat so much...
And the strutting done when I do my stuff.

I've got to groove my middle.
Swivel hips and tease.
I've got to be that swift foot hero,
With a rhythm felt that heats...
Everything that sways the beat.

Samba loco, baby.
Bah-dada.
I want to feverize the streets.
With a rhumba samba shown,
Grooving easily.

Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Bah-pooh-bah-pooh, bop...
Bah-doodo.
Aaaaahhhh...
Aaaaahhhh,
Samba loco, baby.
I'm a samba dancing nut!
I love that Latin beat so much...
And the strutting done when I do my stuff.

Samba loco, baby.
Bah-dada.
Feverize-the-streets.
Ba h-dada
With a rum-ba number samba shown.
And a groove that's easily to reach.

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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