[Setting: The Castle of King Author. Eerily similar to 804 MAIN.]

Narrator [Enter Narrator]

Hearken ye 'round and hear our bardic Tale.

About the ancient King to whom we hail.

[Enter King, Knights, Ladies,

Curiosities and Implausibilities, et al.]

King Author of the Writons called his Knights

His Maidens, fifteen Elves, and twenty Sprites

Into his Castle, up eight Flights of Stairs

Into a Room. With Camembert and Pears

His Guests did feast upon Gallic Cuisine

Tho' they themselves were pack'd in like Sardines.

The Room was hot; the Smell was dank and odd...

Was it the Cheese or the Return of Todd?

The King arose from his bejeweléd Throne.

A wizen'd Man, and naught but Skin and Bone,

King Author was quite old and in poor Health.

(Some say as old as Lit'rature itself.)

In a Whisper like Wind blown through a Reed

Our agéd royal Potentate decreed:

[Exeunt Narrator]

I've call'd all thee to serve in my Crusade--

I'd like it done before I'm but a Shade--

To journey to the Gallic Lands to find

A Bauble that would grant me Calm of Mind.

So ere I lose my last Vitality

I shall be blest with Immortality!

Sir Brian [whisper'd]

Could dear our Liege be speaking of the Grail

For which our Forbears sought but e'er did fail?

Princess Angela [whisper'd]

Our Sovereign has, of late, look'd rather pale.

Perchance he merely needs a Bit o' Tail?

Pat o' Bedlam [whisper'd]

A Stein of Wine or Flagon full of Ale?

Lady Sherri [whisper'd]

A fuzzy Bird with an annoying Wail?

Merlinda [whisper'd]

I could concoct a chocolate Nonpareil...

Do shut thine Keg-Holes; listen to my Tale!

Ten years ago I lost, in Tournament--

O! ever shall I rue that dark Event!--

A Grail of Powers not to Mortals known

A Chalice I was threefold blest to own.

Methinks it now resides somewhere in Gaul.

Lady Rachel [whisper'd]

Means this that we must needs explore it all?

Sir Obadiah [whisper'd]

Remember whence we found his missing Shoe?

Sir Josef [whisper'd]

We sought months ere we found it in the Loo!

Takest thine Horses, Mail, and sundry Goods.

Thou shalt find Steeds a-prancing in the Woods.

We let them out there once, when short of Feed;

An ye can catch them, harness all ye need.

Sirs Brian, Obadiah, thou shalt be

Mine two right Hands in our small Companie.

Sir Josef, tho' thine Services be new

Thou art commandéd of a Retinue

Of twoscore Pikemen and a goodly Squire

Of able Jest and expert with the Lyre.

Thou, Pat o' Bedlam, be the clever Fool

But watch thy acid Tongue and be not cruel.

I was, last Tale, a King of noble Name!

(Who nonetheless was apt at lyric Game.)

Methinks that this Time I deserve the Same.

I challenge now thy autocratic Reign!

Be wary that thy Jests not doubt my Right.

A Jest 'twas not!

Then get thee from mine Sight!

I hereby banish thee from this, our Tale.

And writest thou no Verses on the Grail.

I hold the Right of Copie for such Quests.

Thou shan't sing of it lacking my Behest.

Begone I shall, but heed my final Words:

The Sun shall fall as Gnats beplague thine Herds.

Thine Army shall be conjured into Gourds,

Thine Daughter ravished by the Frankish Hordes.

Thine Kingdom washed into the swollen Sea;

Thine Fool, no Fool, shalt make a Fool of thee!

[Bites o' his thumb]

[Exeunt]

The Lord have Mercy on his balmy Soul.

The rest of thee: queue to obtain thy Rôles.

Now Piper, Rachel, drawest near to me,

Mine Gentlewomen of the Court to be:

Be chaste and pretty and avoid the Ale.

Above all interfere not with my Tale.

Lady Piper [whisper'd]

He coddles and corrals us like his Steeds!

Lady Rachel [whisper'd]

Feminist Deconstruction's what he needs!

Enough decentrist Poppycock, my Dears.

Respect me in Accordance with my Years!

And tho' I'm losing Hearing, Sight, and Scent,

My Point of View's third-person omniscient.

I can espy of Aught thou'st done or said.

From whence thou'rt born to where thou joinst the Dead.

All thou givest, and whate'er thou mayst take.

(Tho' Thoughts are ofttimes vague or e'en opaque.)

And now: Merlinda, Sherri, hearken here.

Merlinda, thou art my appointed Seer;

Takest thine Robe and thy enchanted Wand.

And Sherri, thou shouldst journey to a Pond,

And await my further Instructions there.

Lady Sherri [whisper'd]

I am suppos'd to make my Voyage where?

To roost within mine Pond for all ye care?

Will not the turbid Water mar mine Hair?

The Lady of the Lake I thee assign.

Complain not or I'll give thee extra Lines.

Now, Jean of Arc, infiltratest the Gauls.

And lead them in Rebellion 'gainst the Walls

Of the Bastille where good Sir Todd doth stew.

[Aside]

Mehopes that nothing bad will then ensue.

Jean d'Arc [whisper'd]

I liketh not the Sound of this one Bit!

Perchance 'tis why we signed permission Slips?

Now, cheer up, sleepy Jean, I've not forgot

The Sacrifices that we make for Art.

And Princess, my beloved Daughter fair;

The pride of Writon's Line, mine only Heir:

My "Angela the Chaste" thou shalt be called!

Sir Josef [whisper'd]

Do look at how our noble Lady palled!

I wager that this Rôle she'd scorn to play!

Sir Obadiah [whisper'd]

I'd favor being the Fool than have to stay

Inside the castle Walls, whilst o'er the Moat

The Frankish Hordes besport themselves with Goat.

Fie! No more bawdy Jests from thee, mine Knight,

Tho', good my Father, what they say... 'tis right.

The "Princess" Rôle's the Patriarchy's Tool

For making Women lower than thine Fool.

Besides, my Father, thou shalt ruin mine Rep!

King Author [whisper'd]

Thou art but nineteen, thou hast no Rep yet.

[aloud]

Silence, all thee who question Divine Write!

I'm omnipresent, of unrivaled Might!

Omnipotent, omniscient, and all good;

Whate'er I cared to do my Powers could.

Mine own creative Forces rival God's!

(Heedst thee the sudden Lack of good Sir Todd!)

Unlike God, I may contradict Myself...

In Draft one Lady Sherri was an Elf!

'Tis nice that now thou tell'st me what thou choose!

I just spent ninety Francs on pointy Shoes!

King Author [addresses the court]

So venture forth; performest gallant Acts!

Be not confined by mere historick Fact.

It matters not if half thine Tale is Fiction.

So long as 'tis in Middle English Diction.

[Exeunt all]

[Alarum within]

Narrator [Re-enter Narrator]

The King was finally dead. "Le roi est mort!"

A royal Panick overtook the Court.

And naught a Person ever made a Sound--

Their secret Pact was wholly honourbound--

So to this Day, we know not who allied

To perpetrate this fiendish Scriptocide.

[Exeunt Narrator]