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Ginny Potter - A Harry Potter Fanfiction Archive and Community -- Fictioneer
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Non-HP related Fanfics >> Why it's John the Pell's Fault by AndrewMacRobb

Simple Text - To view MORE chapters use the chapter jump box to the right.
Good gentles please don't go away,
This pauper you see here,
Was not always dressed this way,
Indeed, 'twas just last year,
That I was a ship's master,
In a mansion I did dwell,
The cause of my disaster,
Was a man named John the Pell.

Of gentle if not legal birth,
Son of a noble sire,
And long of limb and lean of girth,
So he became a squire,
For him no toil at mill or farm,
Instead he learned to fight,
And trained with every marshall arm,
'Til he became a knight.

He liked to use his mighty lance,
This lusty young knight errant,
Indeed ere his beard had a chance,
He was, twelve times, a parent.
Since the weapon twixt the thighs,
Of this young neer-do-well,
Was said to grow to giant size,
They called him John the Pell.

He travelled wide throughout the land,
To each corner of the nation,
Seducing maidens at each hand,
He gained a reputation.
The fame he gained was not for arms,
Indeed ere maid should swell,
She'd say it was his manly charms,
And blame this John the Pell.

The daughter of a noble great,
Who had a secret lover,
Discovered she was six weeks late,
And blamed it on another.
And after all was said and done,
Our knight decided he,
(Because her dad was after John),
Should take a trip to sea.

But when he showed up at my quay,
I asked what made him think,
That if he should set sail with me,
He'd best the briney drink.
And then I asked what he could do,
He smiled teeth a-gleemin',
To quiet a mutinous crew,
"I have a way with seamen."

And so I took him 'board my ship,
He quickly learned the ropes,
And hardly ever made a slip,
Few errors, fewer gropes.
As long as we were off at sea,
He was a perfect sailor,
But what his life ashore might be,
Would interest any jailor.

So whenever we came to port,
The ladies stood in wait,
In hope that John would give them sport,
And brighten up their fate.
But for him I had nought but thanks,
So in a year or twain,
He had arisen through our ranks,
He was our ship's cockswain.

But then last year I made the run,
In search of profits great,
All the way to Byzantium,
And through that harbor's gate.
Our hold was filled with silk and spice,
It cost my whole life savings,
For even at that wholesale price,
Great riches beyond cravings.

And one more cargo from New Rome,
I said that I would take,
A noble's daughter, bound for home,
It was my great mistake.
The worst thing a captain can do,
Is take a maid to sea,
It causes problems with the crew,
It sealed my fate for me.

We had a gentle westward breeze,
We sailed a steady course,
'Til past the gates of Hercules,
We turned our bow to north.
At the tiller was our John,
The weather it was fair,
But John's eyes they were fixed upon,
Our passenger's long hair.

He did not see the sail grow slack,
From change of wind or tide,
Until a gust made the mast crack,
And fall over the side.
Our only fate, so it would seem.
To founder on the shore,
For we'd no mast or sturdy beam,
With which to sail once more.

Then John took bolts of precious cloth,
And heap them in a mound,
And climb up like some giant sloth,
And asked that he be bound.
But first he went and doffed his pants,
Impressive, e'en to me,
And asked to have the maiden dance,
On deck where he could see.

The maid danced light as a fairy,
She turned then stopped aghast,
For... by saints and mother Mary,
We had another mast!
We sailed on for a day and night,
Our goal it was in view,
Then that maid climbed up by the knight,
And fondled his great thew.

I heard a sudden, painful cry,
I knew we were undone,
And we were all about to die,
Our doom, and John had come.
No sooned did the now limp sail,
Slip from that flaccid pole,
Then my ship made its dying wail,
We'd foundered on a shoal.

My ship my treasure and my crew,
Now lie beneath the sea,
Survivors? There were only two,
Our passenger and me.
I saw John struggle with his bonds,
Ere he slipped out from sight,
But those were strong and sturdy thongs,
That held that errant knight.

The maid and I washed up on shore,
Our dreams washed up as well.
Now I'm a beggar, she's a whore,
I curse that John the Pell,
So gentles if ye have ha'pence,
Please toss them here my way,
Consider it a small expence,
For the tale you've heard this day.

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