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Words and music copyright ©2002 by Blake Hodgetts
On my way through Donnymere Glade,
I met with a weeping maiden.
I asked her why was such a young maid
with so many sorrows laden?
"O sir," she said,
"t'were better I were dead
than live with the curse I bear;
and e'en the morning sun is hidden by its shade.
If you could bid this evil fade,
Your ring I'd wear
in Donnymere Glade."
(In) sympathy I then did agree
to do what I might to free her
(and truth to tell so fair was she
it was no duress to see her).
So as she rose,
She told me of her woes:
On her there was cast a spell,
So that she could not love nor marry until
one hero could three sentinels kill.
She hoped full well
I could this fulfill.
So off we went to meet with the first,
My heart beating fast within me.
And somehow ne'er thought I of the worst,
That some evil wight might skin me.
At last it came,
the object of our game,
a ravening wolf with wings,
I drew my sword and fought and finally prevailed:
I had some scratches but it was impaled.
Some scars and stings,
but I hadn't failed.
The second foe did shortly appear,
a troll with a mace and hatchet,
and once again I never had fear
that I was a fool to match it.
I came to harm,
I nearly lost an arm,
but by blind luck came through,
and as I lay there pale and bleeding on the ground,
she kissed me gently and brought me around:
"That's two for two;
one more to be found."
I hobbled lamely up to the place
she said that the third would meet me.
That troll had smashed my leg with his mace;
who knows why he didn't beat me.
I looked around
and scattered on the groundó
I gasped and my blood ran coldó
I saw the skulls and bones of those who'd gone before,
Of those who had for love made war,
and ended in gore.
My mind was clear, and just in time,
For there stood a fiery dragon,
And by my side his partner in crime,
awaiting my final agon-
y..."Dear, I must
be going and I trust
you'll pardon if I don't stay,
but though I wish you well and hope that you'll be free,
your matrimony will not include me."
I ran away
And now no more near Donnymere Glade
Will you find your humble servant,
And not so fast will I follow a maid,
Be ever her pleas so fervent,
For I have learned
That honour must be earned,
But violence I deplore,
and so I'll stay at home and sing a serenade:
there's nothing I'd rather not be than filleted,
so I'll no more
To Donnymere Glade.