The Song of the Pelagian Heresy for the Strengthening of Men's Backs and the Very Robust Out-thrusting of Doubtful Doctrine and the Uncertain Intellectual

Pelagius lived in Kardanoel
and taught a doctrine there
How whether you went to Heaven or Hell,
It was your own affair.
How, whether you found eternal joy
Or sank forever to burn,
It had nothing to do with the church, my boy,
But it was your own concern.

(Semi-chorus)
Oh, he didn't believe in Adam and Eve,
He put no faith therein!
His doubts began with the fall of man,
And he laughed at original sin!

(Chorus)
With my row-ti-tow, ti-oodly-ow,
He laughed at orignal sin!

Whereat the Bishop of old Auxerre
(Germanus was his name)
He tore great handfuls out of his hair,
And he called Pelagius Shame:
And then with his stout Episcopal staff
So thoroughly thwhacked and banged
The heretics all, both short and tall,
They rather had been hanged.

Oh, he thwacked them hard, and he banged them long
Upon each and all occasions,
Till they bellowed in chorus, loud and strong
Their orthodox persuasions!

With my row-ti-tow, ti-oodly-ow,
Their orthodox persuasions!

Now the Faith is old
and the Devil is bold
Exceedingly bold. indeed;
And the masses of doubt
That are floating about
Would smother a mortal creed.
But we that sit in sturdy youth,
And still can drink strong ale,
Oh -- let us put it away to infallible truth,
Which always shall prevail!

And thank the Lord
For the temporal sword,
And for howling heretics, too;
And whatever good things
our Christendom brings,
But especially the barley-brew!

With my row-ti-tow, ti-oodly-ow
Especially the barley-brew!

Hilaire Belloc


~

I often worry that I will pay a heavy price for all the time wasted

Leisure

What is this life if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare?—

No time to stand beneath the boughs,
And stare as long as sheep and cows:

No time to see, when woods we pass,
Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass:

No time to see, in broad daylight,
Streams full of stars, like skies at night:

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,
And watch her feet, how they can dance:

No time to wait till her mouth can
Enrich that smile her eyes began?

A poor life this if, full of care,
We have no time to stand and stare.

W. H. Davies


~

Mates, maid! how mean you that? no mates for you, Unless you were of gentler, milder mould.

I am ashamed that women are so simple
To offer war where they should kneel for peace;
Or seek for rule, supremacy and sway,
When they are bound to serve, love and obey.

...

Come, come, you froward and unable worms!
My mind hath been as big as one of yours,
My heart as great, my reason haply more,
To bandy word for word and frown for frown;
But now I see our lances are but straws,
Our strength as weak, our weakness past compare,
That seeming to be most which we indeed least are.

~

A prayer for Oscar Wilde

The tree of life my soul hath seen,
Laden with fruit and always green:
The trees of nature fruitless be
Compared with Christ the apple tree.

His beauty doth all things excel:
By faith I know, but ne’er can tell,
The glory which I now can see
In Jesus Christ the apple tree.

For happiness I long have sought,
And pleasure dearly I have bought:
I missed of all; but now I see
'Tis found in Christ the apple tree.

I'm weary with my former toil,
Here I will sit and rest a while:
Under the shadow I will be,
Of Jesus Christ the apple tree.

This fruit doth make my soul to thrive,
It keeps my dying faith alive:
Which makes my soul in haste to be
With Jesus Christ the apple tree.

Ask me a riddle and I reply...

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
A fly can't bird, but a bird can fly.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
Why does a chicken? I don't know why.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie,
A fish can't whistle and neither can I.
Ask me a riddle and I reply
Cottleston Cottleston Cottleston Pie.

Elvish Music

Confirming my nerd credentials...


Namarie, set to music by Aijin Hidelias.

Ai! laurië lantar lassi súrinen,
Ah! like gold fall the leaves in the wind,
yéni únótimë ve rámar aldaron!
long years numberless as the wings of trees!
Yéni ve lintë yuldar avánier
The long years have passed like swift draughts
mi oromardi lissë-miruvóreva
of the sweet mead in lofty halls
Andúnë pella, Vardo tellumar
beyond the West, beneath the blue vaults of Varda
nu luini yassen tintilar i eleni
wherein the stars tremble
ómaryo airetári-lírinen.
in the voice of her song, holy and queenly.

Sí man i yulma nin enquantuva?
Who now shall refill the cup for me?

An sí Tintallë Varda Oiolossëo
For now the Kindler, Varda, the Queen of the stars,
ve fanyar máryat Elentári ortanë
from Mount Everwhite has uplifted her hands like clouds
ar ilyë tier undulávë lumbulë
and all paths are drowned deep in shadow;
ar sindanóriello caita mornië
and out of a grey country darkness lies
i falmalinnar imbë met,
on the foaming waves between us,
ar hísië untúpa Calaciryo míri oialë.
and mist covers the jewels of Calacirya for ever.
Sí vanwa ná, Rómello vanwa, Valimar!
Now lost, lost to those of the East is Valimar!
Namárië! Nai hiruvalyë Valimar!
Farewell! Maybe thou shalt find Valimar!
Nai elyë hiruva! Namárië!
Maybe even thou shalt find it! Farewell!

...and thick and fast they came at last, and more and more and more...

Oysters Anglicans welcome offer from Rome

...all hopping through the frothy waves
and scrambling to the shore...

Apart from the Walrus and the Carpenter, Lewis Carroll's verse just seems so sweetly apropos. (And so many of them seem to be about seafood. Odd.)

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale!

How cheerfully he seems to grin
How neatly spreads his claws,
And welcomes little fishes in,
With gently smiling jaws!

"Oh Anglicans, come and walk with us!"

Pope Benedict did beseech.

A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."

The eldest Anglican looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Anglican winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head--
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the liberal bed.

... and don't forget to bring your stuff.

Like your choirs.

And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more--
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

Beocat

Never was a big Norse Saga fan, though, perhaps somewhat oddly, I have known people who were. But this struck just the right note for me.

Lately although I have been diligently clipping her claws, Winnie has been lacerating me more than usual. I think she's using my arms to practice for when the Mean Cat comes around again.

Brave Beocat, brood-kit of Ecgthmeow,
Hearth-pet of Hrothgar in whose high halls
He mauled without mercy many fat mice,
Night did not find napping nor snack-feasting.
The wary war-cat, whiskered paw-wielder,
Bearer of the burnished neck-belt, gold-braided collar band,
Feller of fleas fatal, too, to ticks,
The work of wonder-smiths, woven with witches' charms,
Sat upon the throne-seat his ears like sword-points
Upraised, sharp-tipped, listening for peril-sounds,
When he heard from the moor-hill howls of the hell-hound,


Gruesome hunger-grunts of Grendel's Great Dane,
Deadly doom-mutt, dread demon-dog.
Then boasted Beocat, noble battle-kitten,
Bane of barrow-bunnies, bold seeker of nest-booty:
"If hand of man unhasped the heavy hall-door
And freed me to frolic forth to fight the fang-bearing fiend,
I would lay the whelpling low with lethal claw-blows;
Fur would fly and the foe would taste death-food.
But resounding snooze-noise, stern slumber-thunder,
Nose-music of men snoring mead-hammered in the wine-hall,
Fills me with sorrow-feeling for Fate does not see fit
To send some fingered folk to lift the firm-fastened latch
That I might go grapple with the grim ghoul-pooch."
Thus spoke the mouse-shredder, hunter of hall-pests,
Short-haired Hrodent-slayer, greatest of the pussy-Geats.

Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove

Here's some more




"Dance Me To The End Of Love"

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic 'til I'm gathered safely in
Lift me like an olive branch and be my homeward dove
Dance me to the end of love
Dance me to the end of love

Oh let me see your beauty when the witnesses are gone
Let me feel you moving like they do in Babylon
Show me slowly what I only know the limits of
Dance me...

Dance me to the wedding now, dance me on and on
Dance me very tenderly and dance me very long
We're both of us beneath our love, we're both of us above
Dance me...

Dance me to the children who are asking to be born
Dance me through the curtains that our kisses have outworn
Raise a tent of shelter now, though every thread is torn
Dance me...

Dance me to your beauty with a burning violin
Dance me through the panic till I'm gathered safely in
Touch me with your naked hand or touch me with your glove

It raineth every day...

It's from the Bible, see. That's why everyone used to quote it.

England Green
by Grant Baynham

The rain it raineth every day
At least it sometimes feels that way
And mostly on Bank Holiday
Which seemeth somewhat mean
And yet, looked at another way,
It is but little price to pay
The rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green

Chorus: England green! England green!
The rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green

In England’s green and pleasant land
We all hold out a hopeful hand
Because we know and understand
What keeps Old England green
So let the rain rain every day
And every night between
For, oh, the rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green


Chorus

The proud and mighty Eskimo
Has umpteen different names for snow
And Englishmen all likewise know
A phrase or two to mean “it’s raining”
Stair rods, cats and dogs
A lovely day for ducks and frogs
It’s hissing (tipping) down, still what’s the odds
It’s keeping England green

Chorus

The rain it raineth both upon
The just and unjust fella
But mostly on the just, the unjust
Just steals the just’s umbrella
Let fall the rain on whomsoe’re it will
On commoner or Queen
For, oh, the rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green


Chorus

Meanwhile at Lords old England soldier on
Four wickets down for forty one
It’s looking like the follow-on
And now Vaughan’s gone for seventeen
Shane Warne nagging at the rough
Outside off stump - we’ve had enough
Great God bring on the rain, the stuff
That saves the England Team

Chorus: England Team! England Team!
Great God bring on the rain, the stuff
That saves the England Team

Tyne, Dogger, Fisher, German Bight
Humber, Thames, Dover, Wight
997 rain in sight. . .good
From Plymouth to the Pennine Way
St Abbs Head to St Austell Bay
The rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green

Chorus: England green! England green!
The rain it raineth every day
To keep Old England green

Betjeman

It's not about Rain, but it's one of my very most favourites.

Slough
Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!

Come, bombs and blow to smithereens
Those air -conditioned, bright canteens,
Tinned fruit, tinned meat, tinned milk, tinned beans,
Tinned minds, tinned breath.

Mess up the mess they call a town-
A house for ninety-seven down
And once a week a half a crown
For twenty years.

And get that man with double chin
Who'll always cheat and always win,
Who washes his repulsive skin
In women's tears:

And smash his desk of polished oak
And smash his hands so used to stroke
And stop his boring dirty joke
And make him yell.

But spare the bald young clerks who add
The profits of the stinking cad;
It's not their fault that they are mad,
They've tasted Hell.

It's not their fault they do not know
The birdsong from the radio,
It's not their fault they often go
To Maidenhead

And talk of sport and makes of cars
In various bogus-Tudor bars
And daren't look up and see the stars
But belch instead.

In labour-saving homes, with care
Their wives frizz out peroxide hair
And dry it in synthetic air
And paint their nails.

Come, friendly bombs and fall on Slough
To get it ready for the plough.
The cabbages are coming now;
The earth exhales.

Basho

First winter rain--
even the monkey
seems to want a raincoat.

(It's Japanese. Don't complain).

Rain rain, come again!

I'm looking for poems about rain. How nice it is. How we need it to cool things down and grow our flowers and keep us happy.

I'm instituting an O's P rain poetry contest. All positive rain poetry received will be posted as a giant shout to God to please please please give us some lovely water from the sky.

(Oh yes, Mr. Evil Yellow Face is starting to get on my nerves.)

Happiness

John had
Great Big
Waterproof
Boots on;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Hat;
John had a
Great Big
Waterproof
Mackintosh --
And that
(Said John)
Is
That.

-- A. A. Milne

Waiting for the Barbarians

What are we waiting for, assembled in the forum?

The barbarians are to arrive today.

Why such inaction in the Senate?
Why do the Senators sit and pass no laws?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today.
What laws can the Senators pass any more?
When the barbarians come they will make the laws.

Why did our emperor wake up so early,
and sits at the greatest gate of the city,
on the throne, solemn, wearing the crown?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today.
And the emperor waits to receive
their chief. Indeed he has prepared
to give him a scroll. Therein he inscribed
many titles and names of honor.

Why have our two consuls and the praetors come out
today in their red, embroidered togas;
why do they wear amethyst-studded bracelets,
and rings with brilliant, glittering emeralds;
why are they carrying costly canes today,
wonderfully carved with silver and gold?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today,
and such things dazzle the barbarians.

Why don't the worthy orators come as always
to make their speeches, to have their say?

Because the barbarians are to arrive today;
and they get bored with eloquence and orations.

Why all of a sudden this unrest
and confusion. (How solemn the faces have become).
Why are the streets and squares clearing quickly,
and all return to their homes, so deep in thought?

Because night is here but the barbarians have not come.
And some people arrived from the borders,
and said that there are no longer any barbarians.

And now what shall become of us without any barbarians?
Those people were some kind of solution.

Constantine P. Cavafy (1904)

The Potion

A friend had a bad cold over the weekend and I recommended something that John Muggeridge used to make for me when I was sick. He tried it and it worked so well, he has given us a poem about it.

To water, boiled and simmered with a slice
Of lemon grown in hot Sicilia
(Its juice squeezed in, and flesh scraped in by shreds)
Spoon in smooth honey, dealt in liberal scoops
And stirred until dissolved. A tot of rum,
Shipped to these shelves from Caribbean shores,
Measured and poured, expended in the mix,
Precedes two spoons of sugar, tropic, brown,
To give the potent dose its final kick,
To clear the stoppered caverns of the nose,
To soothe the raw throat and to warm the brain,
Unbinding spirits shackled by the cold,
Clearing packed matter, and allowing passage
To breathe again, humane, and light, and free.

Really. I can't recommend it enough. Especially effective when consumed in front of a roaring fire.

THREE TRAGEDIES

PADME
There was a young queen of Naboo,
Quite a model of what not to do,
For she married a brat
(Clandestinely, at that)
And it ended in tears (as we knew).

LEAR
Angry Kent said to silly old Lear:
"It's the most flaming stupid idea
To chop Britain in thirds
For these two dolly-birds,
While the third one gets kicked out of here."

ST JULIAN
Kill my father and mother? Not I!
I ran off, took a wife. Time went by.
Who's asleep in my bed?
Traitors! Kill them both! - Dead
My father and mother here lie.

Limericks for Epiphany

...and other things.


The Magi in St. Peter's Basilica

EPIPHANYTIDE
I've been trying to decide (and it's tough)
When to take down the nice Christmas stuff.
On Twelfth Night? Is Day Eight
From the Magi too late?
Candlemas is, for sure, late enough.


Cardinal Pell, seated on the famous faldstool cover with Fr. Kramer, not despairing.

AT THE FALDSTOOL
There's no cause, dear PP, to despair
That the fabric has gained a great tear.
Now the faldstool is fit
For a bishop to sit
Since the cover's come back from repair.

PIETT'S PROMOTION
Far too close to the system we came,
And Lord Vader knew who was to blame.
Now the Admiral's dead,
I'm promoted instead -
I just hope I don't end up the same.

Habemus Cattam

WINNIE'S LIMERICK

What great misdeed I'd done,
I can't think,
That my Mum locked me up in the clink.
Now she's flown me to Rome,
Which, I guess, is now home,
So there's no point in raising a stink.

Verse two just in.

It's the fall of Ancient Rome,
It's the fall of Ancient Rome,
It's the fall of Ancient Rome,
It's the end of the world.

When Alaric comes he will burn your home,
he will steal your gold
and all you own.
He'll wave a big knife
And he'll carry off your wife,
it's the end of the world.

It's the fall of Ancient Rome...

See the Huns march in with the Goths at their backs
The Laocoon hacked to bits with an axe
as the libraries burn,
then the Vandals get a turn,
it's the end of the world...

It's the fall of Ancient Rome...



H/T to Gregory.