Gallants attend, and hear a friend,
Trill forth harmonious ditty;
Strange things I’ll tell,
Which late befell, near one Corrender city.
‘Twas late of day, as poets say,
Just when the sun was setting,
Harbingers stood afore a door,
And heard a noise surprising.
As in a maze, they stood to gaze,
The truth can’t be denied, sir
They spied a score – of hands galore,
Come skittering down the walls, sir,
A halfling too, in jerkin blue,
The strange appearance viewing,
First damned his eyes, in great surprise,
Then said, Some mischief’s brewing.
These hands now hold the Harbingers bold,
Their legs they were ashaking:
And they’re come down to attack the crowd,
In this new way of scampering down.
The paladin flew, the ranger too,
And, scared almost to death, sir,
Did bring their weapons down on hands,
And swung til out of breath, sir.
Now up and down throughout the ruin,
Most frantic scenes were acted:
And some ran here, and some ran there
Like men almost distracted,
Some fire cried, which some denied,
But said the floor did quake:
And bard and tiefling, with hideous squeals
Did wield their weapons also.
From night to morn, these men (and women) of might
Displayed amazing courage;
And when the sun was fairly up,
Retired to sup their porridge:
An hundred men with each a pen,
Or more upon my word, sir,
It is almost true, should be too few,
Their valor to record sir.
Such feats did they perform that day
Upon these wicked hands, sir,
That years to come, if they get home,
They’ll make their boasts and brags, sir.