The Beggar's Tale

Oh yes, there was a noble magistrate
who cruelly overtaxed the wretched poor 
and ordered slavish service to the state,
from his desire to please the emperor.
A clever thought entered into his pate
to use the wiles of a base conjurer:
An elf who knew not only conjurations
but also those alchemical secrets
that lustrous gold can make from dogs' excretions.
With these false coins, he trapped the poor in debts,
exchanging lies for peasants' gruels and buns.
Mendacious gold became befouled regrets;
the conjurer would sell the food again
to those who'd paid so foolishly before.
He gave the count his undeserved gain.
And yet, of gold, the judge still wanted more.
So promised he the mage a taste of pain
if he could not produce some shiny ore.
The conjurer had kept much for himself.
He might, from his, the judge's greed have paid. 
Instead, some scamps were summoned by this elf.
The scamps were loosed upon the shops to raid.
Oh, they did not ignore a single shelf.
From decent folk, before this elf were laid,
A pile of goods the vile magician weened 
would go some way to satisfy his master.
So he set off while people loudly keened.
A strange event befell this heartless bastard.
Unsummoned, there appeared a gray-skinned fiend.
"Do you intend to threaten some disaster?"
The fiend forestalled his fear, "No, not at all.
I come to take what can see better use."
Still worried, asked the elf, "Do you serve Bal?"
The daedra spoke, "My tongue I will not loose.
But tell me truly, go you to whose hall?"
"I must deliver this, to dodge the noose,
by Fredas to the lord of this county.
"You think not that this gold might better serve 
those honest folk from whom you took this fee?"
"Grant this. I have the wit, I have the nerve,
to give my lord a sum and give to me.
In truth, in measured thought, this is no curve, 
these tawdry goods, this gold, was only theirs 
by tireless efforts of our valiant count
who guards their sorry skins, even their hairs."
Upon this speech, the sharp-toothed daedra frowned,
"If decent people kept their rightful shares,
they'd need no count to guard the land all round."
The conjurer thrust out his quiv'ring hand.
He said, "I have the will, I have the strength
to see your ‘reason' is but shifting sand. 
This meal of words has been too great of length, 
and now I find its flavor rather bland.
If I speak longer, call me Wurg gro-Drength."
then waved his hand, and thus the fiend was banished.
The people from their wealth the mage would sever
for many years. The conjurer flourished. 
In all your lives, I dare say that you'll never
encounter people who so strongly wished
to skin and spit and roast an elf forever.                            

By Thomas Stanley April 20th, 2008