The Tale of the Lincoln Imp
The Devil he sent out his Imps to play,
Two Imps got carried on the wind away,
Until they did at the mighty Cathedral of Lincoln land.
Said one Imp "this is no place for me,
No fun at all... Christianity!"
And so from the mighty Cathedral of Lincoln he ran.
The second looked on at the doorway great,
And did not for one moment hesitate,
As he pounced on the mighty Cathedral of Lincoln he sang.
You may want to pray,
I'm a real little Devil who's come out to play.
There's a lot here to see,
Some trouble to cause then it's home for my tea."
The Imp did sneeze the slimiest sneeze,
Which drenched the nearby Romanesque frieze,
As he rudely kicked open the old Great West Door.
The Imp felt his innards starting to squelch,
So he proudly let out a thunderous belch,
As he stood on the threshold of the old Great West Door.
And as he brazenly sauntered in,
The Imp did loudly pass foul wind,
Upon his passage through the old Great West Door.
The emissions that left the Imp's bottom and mouth,
Carried on to a transept that faced to the South,
Which housed a round window called the Bishop's Eye.
And in this place the Lord Bishop stood,
It was his job to invite in the good,
That came through the window called the Bishop's Eye.
There the Lord Bishop caught a treacherous smell,
Which seemed to have risen from the bowels of Hell,
And not from the window called the Bishop's Eye.
"What on Earth was that?" the Bishop did gasp,
"The sound and the smell of the passing of gas!"
He turned from the window called the Bishop's Eye.
Said the Lord Bishop: "I must be brave,
I must investigate the nave,
Then return to my window called the Bishop's Eye."
Inside the nave the Imp did hide,
And from there behind his pillar he spied,
The great Lord Bishop about to pass by.
A wicked sparkle in his eye,
The Imp he raised one hoof up high,
As the great Lord Bishop did draw nigh.
The Imp he grinned an evil grin,
As he aimed his hoof at holy shin,
The great Lord Bishop through the air did fly.
"Ho-ho!" the imp laughed, "more work to be done,
And so from the nave I soon must be gone"
To the great Lord Bishop below he cried:
I'm finished with you,
I've lots of other things to do.
'Tis time to be mean,
I'll find the Great Transept then knock down the Dean"
Alert to the evils the dark-side brought forth,
The Dean he did keep his gaze fixed to the North,
Through the mighty round window they called the Dean's Eye.
Knowing full well that he could not be seen,
The Imp did approach from the South of the Dean,
Who kept watch through the window they called the Dean's Eye.
Like a bull in a ring the Imp pawed at the ground,
Then charged at the Dean who quite promptly fell down,
On the floor 'neath the window they called the Dean's Eye.
"You silly old Dean," the Imp did shout,
"You've wasted your time and it was all for nowt...
You're as blind as the window they call the Dean's Eye!"
Then as the Imp did turn around,
There came a wondrous burst of sound,
Which through the mighty cathedral of Lincoln rang.
"I know that sound!" the Imp spat in disgust,
Then disappeared in a cloud of dust,
To the east of the mighty cathedral of Lincoln he ran.
Upon the Angel Choir he came,
He teased the choir and called them names,
And there in the mighty cathedral of Lincoln he sang:
And now for some fun,
Time to pinch a Verger's bum.
For to breaketh some win-dee-os!"
The Imp grabbed a stone that did lay at his feet,
"Lo and Behold! A devilish treat!"
He stared at the glass of the Great East Window.
Laughing aloud in a menacing tone,
He swung back his arm and he then hurled the stone,
Smashing the glass of the Great East Window.
Hopping about on his cloven-hoofed toes,
He danced on the Head Shrine that lay there below,
As he trampled the shards of the Great East Window.
"Stop!" cried the angels, "that's horribly wrong!"
But instead of desisting the Imp sang a song,
As he flew to a cleft near the Great East Window:
"Hey-nonny, Ho-nonny, No-nonny-nan,
Stop me! Oh stop me....
Just see if you can!
Hey-nonny, Ho-nonny, No-nonny-nigh,
Stop me! Oh stop me...
Just you have a try!"
As soon as these words did pass the Imp's lips,
His toes would not move nor his clawed fingertips,
As he sat in the Lincoln Cathedral and grinned.
"Imp!" cried an angel, "you just would not learn,
And now for your penance, to stone you must turn,
As you sit in the Lincoln Cathedral and grin."
And so to this day, in the great Angel Choir,
If you look up on high, then a little bit higher,
To a cleft in the Lincoln Cathedral, you'll grin.
For there you will see in his nonchalant pose,
The cross-legged Imp with the cloven-hoofed toes,
As he sits in the Lincoln Cathedral and grins.
Written by James Birkbeck.
Based on the old legend.
Completed June 4, 1999
The Huntsman of Rosamund Street
On through the night
Whilst most lay asleep,
A solitary figure
Was said then to creep,
Past the hedgerows and embankments
Of Rosamund Street.
This man could not hunt
By the light of the day,
So he'd set out each evening
In search of his prey,
'Tween the fence-posts and shrubberies
Of Rosamund Street.
All aglow in the moonlight
They shone white as sheets,
As they hung all arow
By their hard wooden feet,
These trophies for the Huntsman
Of Rosamund Street.
From out of the bushes
The Huntsman would lurch,
His unwitting victims
Clean ripped from their perch,
The stealthy Weatherfield pantythief
Crept off on his way down Rosamund Street
(Do you know where YOUR knickers are?)