The Traveler’s Tale 15 (The Traveler’s Wounds)
Ah, Miss; an’ might ye ‘ave the time
To men this sabre slash?
I got it yester evenin’-
While out to seize some cash.
A coach an’ four came down the lane-
I saw no threat therein…
How could I know that in the coach,
Were two fine fightin’ men?
What’s ‘at ye say? Why stopped I them?
Ah, lass, me trade ye see….
Is takin’ some’at from the rich-
To feed poor little me…
An ‘ighwayman? P’raps I am!
I never rob the poor…
An many’s glad to glam me face..
A callin’ at their door.
Ah, lass, the one was six feet tall
And long o’ arm and leg-
An’ braver than a ragin’ bear-
‘e’d not give in ner beg.
He nicked me twict an’ nicked me good
Before I ran ‘im through.
Why, lass, ‘twas either me er ‘im-
What else was I to do?
The other? Aye, he too was brave-
But not a fightin’ man-
‘is arm too crippled up to fight-
The rascal turn an’ ran.
Enough o’ this! ‘Twill mend me wounds?
Or must I hit the trail?
The Queen’s own guard is comin’ ‘ard-
Thus goes the Traveler’s Tale.
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