Fruit of the Yew

FRUIT OF THE YEW

Grim warriors appeared decked in iron and gold,

Their bright banners snapped in the breeze

Harvest was over, the weather was cold

Turning hot breath to cloud in the freeze.

They moved over river and meadow and field

The peasantry scattered before

They gathered the wealth of the land on their shields

And carried it off to the shore.

"How can this happen and where is our King?

And where are the warriors we pay?"

"Aye, the King may be King where he sits on his throne

But his throne is four days ride away!"

So swift word was sent to the men of the woods,

"There'll be no trade for Winter this year.

No sacks of grain for the skin of the fox,

No ale for the flesh of the deer."

But deep in the woodlands of Wales grows a tree
And the name of that tree is the yew.

The fruit of the yew is a stout longbow stave

Throwing straight clothyard shafts strong and true!

They gathered in numbers from forest and fen

Walking soft, as the hunting-men do,

And hung at each side were the straight clothyard shafts,

In each hand was the fruit of the yew.

And slipping by night thru the still-burning steads,

They looked for the camp by the shore

And each made a vow, as he passed by the dead,

That the morning would even the score.

Well, morning broke clear and the raiders awoke

With a leisurely thought for the day

Till one showed his head and a soft bowstring spoke

From three hundred paces away!

And as he fell dead a loud, taunting voice cried

"It's a pleasure to pay you your due!

You came seeking all of the fruits of our land,

Have a taste of the fruit of the yew!"

For what use are shields that don't cover your legs?

Or helms that don't cover your eyes?

Or shirts of bright mail 'gainst a stout clothyard shaft

That can pierce through a stag on the fly?

The King arrived early, mud-spattered and tired,

But to look on a field of the dead.

Cut down from the front as they stood in their line,

Cut down from the rear as they fled!

"Who are the men that have done me this good?"

Asked the King, from his horse ridden lame.

"'Twas outlaws and brigands from deep in the woods

And they've since fled from whence they all came."

"Well would they take Pardon, and live in my Peace?"

Asked the King of his Councillor true,

"What them?" he replied, "They're a quarrelsome lot

And they'll not become lawful for you."

So raiders take heed of this story I tell

For to lengthen your lives, if you will!

When you go a-reavin' be sure of your mark!

Be sure that it matches your skill!

For England pays silver and Spain will pay gold

And France will grant land, this is true,

But seek not for wealth in the woodlands of Wales,

For they pay in the fruit of the yew!