Such joy a day can bring to hearts of men,
The trees bedecked, in finest autumn hue;
A throng of merriment upon the heath,
The glistened lilac, wrought in morning dew.
The drummer boys, a-beating on their drums,
Old peddlers pushing carts, piled high with wares;
Beggars, worn and haggard, as their clothes,
And women, in their finest, catching stares.
The roaring cheers as horse parades go by,
Delivering up the bounty of the feast;
The VIPs a-riding in fine style,
Their open carriage, drawn behind the beast.
As one by one, they climb above the crowd,
Their speeches cheered, with jeers and playful boos;
Then swiftly swinging, onwards with their tour,
The crowds go jostling, chasing better views.
The butcher greets the VIPs with glee,
And demonstrates his mastery of meat;
With sharpened knives, a-gleaming in the sun,
His chopping rhythym keeps a steady beat.
As shadows lengthen, slowly crowds disperse,
With pondrous looks, a day to e'er remember;
And every year, its carnival once more,
Lest we forget, the fifth day of November.
Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators attempted to blow up the Houses of Parliament. They were sentenced to be hung, drawn and quartered. In theory, this meant you were hung until dead, your body was dragged through the streets tied behind a horse, and then your body was hacked to pieces and scattered, so your soul could never rest. Of course, there are always loopholes in the law. They were instead, hung (momentarily), just enough to feel the noose tighten. They were dragged (on a carriage) behind a horse, and thus were delivered in relatively good health to the quartering block. Guy Fawkes was fortunate; so weak from torture, his neck broke during the hanging, killing him instantly. His companions weren't so lucky.
