Roger of Wendover
wrote of your audacity,
a chronicle, a fable in lore,
whereupon your face was softened
for the Coventry poor.
Tyranny of taxation,
a sovereign's oppression,
one husband's aggravation,
and so he gave to you
but one condition.
After the butterflies,
before the sunlit emprise,
no mask to disguise,
not a thing to prevent
prying eyes.
Only your decree
could now protect your
ladyship's modesty,
keep your name from
this sordid tale of infamy,
yet, what did Tom see?
It shan't be denied, it rests
indelibly in Flowers of History,
alas! along cobbled streets,
all of them you defied,
thus with head held high,
you rode in all your glory.
