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Message: <blockquote data-quote="TheAuldGrump" data-source="post: 1908213" data-attributes="member: 6957">I used these two in games more than once...Tom O'Bedlam's SongFrom the hag and hungry goblin That into rags would rend ye,The spirit that stands by the naked manIn the Book of Moons, defend ye.That of your five sound sensesYou never be forsaken,Nor wander from your selves with TomAbroad to beg your bacon,          While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.Of thirty bare years have ITwice twenty been enragèd,And of forty been three times fifteenIn durance soundly cagèd.On the lordly lofts of BedlamWith stubble soft and dainty,Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips, ding-dong,With wholesome hunger plenty,     And now I sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.With a thought I took for Maudlin,And a cruse of cockle pottage,With a thing thus tall, sky bless you all,I befell into this dotage.I slept not since the Conquest,Till then I never wakèd,Till the roguish boy of love where I layMe found and stript me nakèd.     While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.When I short have shorn my sow's faceAnd swigged my horny barrel,In an oaken inn, I pound my skinAs a suit of gilt apparel;The moon's my constant mistress,And the lovely owl my marrow;The flaming drake and the night crow makeMe music to my sorrow.     While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.The palsy plagues my pulsesWhen I prig your pigs or pullenYour culvers take, or matchless makeYour Chanticleer or Sullen.When I want provant, with HumphryI sup, and when benighted,I repose in Paul's with waking souls,Yet never am affrighted.     But I do sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.I know more than Apollo,For oft when he lies sleepingI see the stars at mortal warsIn the wounded welkin weeping.The moon embrace her shepherd,And the Queen of Love her warrior,While the first doth horn the star of morn,And the next the heavenly Farrier.     While I do sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.The Gypsies, Snap and Pedro,Are none of Tom's comradoes,The punk I scorn, and the cutpurse swornAnd the roaring boy's bravadoes.The meek, the white, the gentle,Me handle not nor spare not;But those that cross Tom RynosserossDo what the panther dare not.     Although I sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.With an host of furious fancies,Whereof I am commander,With a burning spear and a horse of airTo the wilderness I wander.By a knight of ghosts and shadowsI summoned am to tourneyTen leagues beyond the wide world's end:Methinks it is no journey.     Yet I will sing, Any food, any feeding,     Feeding, drink or clothing;     Come dame or maid, be not afraid,     Poor Tom will injure nothing.Meg Maudlin's SongFor to see mad Tom of BedlamTen thousand years I'll travelMad Maudlin goes on dirty toesfor to save her shoes from gravel(Chorus) Still I sing bonny boys,bonny mad boysBedlam boys are bonnyFor they all go bare and theylive by the air......And they want no drink nor moneyNow I repent that everPoor Tom was so Disdain'dMy wits were lost when him I cross'tWhich makes me go thus chain'dChorusMy staff has murder'd giantsMy bag a long knife carriesFor to cut mince pies from children's thighsAnd feed them to the fairiesChorusMy horn is made of thunderI stole it out of heavenThe rainbow there is this I wearFor which I thence was drivenChorusI went down to Pluto's kitchenfor to get me food one morningand there I got souls piping hotall on the spit a-turningChorusThen I took up a cauldronwhere boil'd ten thousand 'Tornies'Twas full of flame, yet I drank the sameand wished them happy journeysChorusThe spirits white as lightningWould on my travels guide methe stars would shake and the moon would quakeWhenever they espied meChorusAnd now that I have gottenA lease than doomsday longerTo live on earth with some in mirthTen whales shall find my hungerChorusNo Gypsy, slut, or doxyShall win my mad Tom from meWe'll weep all night and with stars fightthe fray will well become meChorusAnd when that I have beatenThe man i' the moon to a powderHis dog I'll take and him I'll makeBark as no daemon louderChorusA health to Tom of BedlamGo Fill the seas in a barrelI'll drink it all, well brewed with gallAnd maudlin drunk I'll quarrel.ChorusFor to see mad Tom of BedlamTen thousand miles I'll travelMad Maudlin goes on dirty toesfor to save her shoes from gravelChorusTechnically songs, the original tunes re I believe long lost.The Auld Grump</blockquote>

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