The Scholar Complains - 16th century lyrics somewhat sketchily put to the tune of 'Jesus Christ the Apple Tree'.
I wold my master were an hare
and all his bokes houndes were
and I myself a joly huntere
to blow my horn I wold not spare
for if he were dead I wold not care!
What availeth it me though I say, nay?
I have no idea why I've been singing this all day. Unless it's that I've been reading Chaucer's Prologue and the whole mediaeval English thing sort of slipped through by some sort of literary osmosis...
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