Category: belles-lettres

A wandering minstrel found one day he could not play his lute.
He strummed and twanged and plucked the strings, but ever were they mute.
A maiden came and asked if he might sing a pretty song.
“Sweet maid,” said he, “I’m sad to say my voice is not too strong.”
“Oh come,” she said, “strike up a tune, for I know that you can.
I saw you singing yesternight in front of every man.”
So he, abashed, took up his lute and then began to sing,
And though his voice was loud and clear, the lute said not a thing.
“O sorry man,” the girl exclaimed, “you must have broke your lute!”
“Oh no,” said he, “that cannot be, its strings are resolute.”
The wondering minstrel tried again, he tried to play a round,
But still the stubborn instrument refused to make a sound.
“Well, I declare!” the maiden said, “Here, let me have a try.”
Her nimble fingers plucked the strings and then they gave a cry.
“Dear minstrel friend, it seems to me you’re needing some technique.
Now watch me closely, and I’ll show you how to make it speak.”
The minstrel watched indignantly while she the lute did play:
She played on it three galliards, one pavane and tuneful lay.
“Enough! Enough!” the minstrel said, “I know technique full well.
It’s clear to see that this must be the workings of a spell.”
“A spell!” she shrieked, and dropped the lute, a-clatt’ring to the floor.
“A spell!” he cried out fervently, and scared her even more.
“Sweet maiden, I implore you, go and find this evil man!
Go and find the wicked wizard who has caught me in his plan!” Read More