In the time of knights and chivalry
In the Castle of Grim Intent,
There lived the Baron de Romilly
That the King or the Devil had sent,
His knights were the scourge of the countryside
For they only dealt in pain,
Taxing the helpless peasantry
In the name of Lady Jane.

But Lady Jane was a prisoner
In a dungeon, deep and dark,
Gone were the days she’d ridden to hounds
In the castle’s spacious park,
The Baron had taken the castle,
On a dark and moonless night,
He held a warrant from England’s King
But that didn’t make it right.

He’d slain Milady’s pikemen,
Who had been the drawbridge guard,
Thrown their bodies into the moat
Left others, dead in the yard,
While Lady Jane on the battlements
Said, ‘What brings the Baron here?
Your evil knights are the country’s blight
So I would that you’d disappear!’

The Baron laughed in his ugly way
But his face was grim and sour,
He seized her, said he would make her pay
Then ****** her into the tower,
‘You’ll pay for this, I’m of noble blood,’
She had screamed, and cursed his name,
But he dragged her down to the dungeon,
And he tethered her there in chain.

His knights had raged through the countryside
Put yeomen and serfs in thrall,
They ran a sword through the village priest
And the Squire in the Manor Hall,
The countryside was awash with blood
As the Baron’s rule held sway,
While Lady Jane had muttered in pain
‘He will live to rue this day!’

She’d retained a wandering minstrel,
Who had played to pay her court,
And he was spared by the Baron’s men
For the music that they sought,
But one night after a revelry
When the knights lay drunk on the floor,
He slipped away down an old stairway
With the keys to the dungeon’s door.

He heard a weeping, as if in pain
And wandered along to check,
And found the prison of Lady Jane,
Released the chain from her neck,
They crept on out to the castle yard
And mounted two horses there,
Then galloped out through the drawbridge, leaving
The gaping guards to stare.

She roused the surrounding country,
‘You have everything now to gain,
Pick up your scythes, and your swords and knives
And we’ll show the Baron pain!’
They marched as a farmers army,
With bitterness at its core,
And slew the guards at the castle gate
And the knights that lay on the floor.

The Baron was dragged to the battlements
Where they’d fixed a sturdy rope.
He begged for Milady’s indulgence,
But she gave him little hope,
‘You’re going to meet your maker,
For you’ve played the Devil’s pawn,’
Then launched him into eternity
To the cries of the peasants scorn.

His corpse hung ‘til it rotted away
While Milady held a feast,
In thanks to the local peasantry
That he’d cared about the least,
While her minstrel wooed with a tuneful song
Though his eyes cried out in pain,
From the dreadful love that he’d held so long
For his mistress, Lady Jane.

David Lewis Paget