Of Leopards and Spots
A Chaucerian tale of greed, murder…and love
When Kylie’s husbande Herb passed from this lyfe,
after an altercation with a busse,
she never thought to be againe a wyfe
and went about her days with little fusse.
Yet suitors came a-calling prompt and swifte
tho’ she be stille in mourninge and heartsore
and even whyle she gave them shortest shrifte
another would come knockinge on her doore.
One of these fellawes was a man called Jack
and like the others, he was sent awaye,
but unperturbed he kept on coming back
with hopes that she would aske him once to staye.
Thisse Jack, a handsome manne, had just one eye,
the other being glasse was motionlesse;
you’d think because of thisse he would be shye
but au contraire, he went out to impresse.
He wore a suit and tie from Savile Rowe,
bought flowers, chocs, a ryde in horse and carriage,
took her to dinner and a Weste Ende showe
all for to woo the lady into marriage.
Now Kylie, tho at first offhand and cool,
decided that perhaps he wasn’t badde,
and when he knelt and showed his prettie jewel,
accepted his proposal fulsome gladde.
And so to bedde — at last she gaveth inne,
he carefully removed her outer wrappers,
and when they both were naked, skinne to skinne
the two of them went at it like the clappers.
‘How capable thou art,’ she murmured, thrill’d
‘for I have cometh twice — thou art welle hotte,
and tho my Herb tried hard, he was not skilled —
in twenty years he never hit the spotte.
Panting, Jack wiped the swette from off his brow
and layeth back his head upon the pillowe.
‘How splendid is thy garden,’ quoth he, now,
‘with ecstasy twixt ferne and pussy willowe.’
His pleasing words did cause her much delight,
to wedde this manne would give her suche a thrille.
Unknown to her, he had a planne in sight –
to oust this widow from her husband’s wille.
‘My deare,’ said Jack, ‘let us be wedde, and swifte.’
‘Oh yes,’ she said, ‘let’s planne the happie day,
the guests, the cake, the bridesmaids and their giftes;
what dost thou think to sette the date in Maye?’
‘Maye?’ said he, ‘that is a long time hence,
full seven months — methought thou love’st me true.’
Said she: ‘My sweet, pray do not take offence,
it taketh time to organise a do.’
‘Why must we make suche hassle, dearest one?
For alle that planning is a fusse and stress.
The registrar would get the wedding done.
A ceremonie short and sweete is best.’
She was not sure why they must wedde in haste
A fancie wedding held in Gawthorpe Mede
Was her desire — but he was solemn-faced,
And suche was his persistence, she agreed.
She wore a robe Versace had designed,
The weddinge guests were sparse — his very few,
And after both the register had signed
Crossed to ‘The Bull’ and had a drink or two.
Their marriage was moste happie to beginne
Jack even sweeter, eek he was most kinde
She did not know he’d led a lyfe of sinne,
With dark intention lurking in his minde.
To please him did she sette her heart and soul,
Baked apple pies and scones and brought his ale;
In bedde they had a nightly sausage-roll -
She’d no idea that he had been in jaile.
One morning when the snow lay full and thick,
She made bolde asking how he’d lost his eye.
‘A vicious babe did poke me with a stick
When I was but a child of four or five.’
‘Unfortunate, my dear — but all I see
Before me is the man that I adore
And one or two-eyed makes no oddes with me,
I feel I never knew such love before.’
At hearing this he smyled, but inward groaned
For he had plannes to do her inne that Christmas.
An accidental death — she would be mourned,
But after that, he’d get himself a mistress.
A feeling he had never hadde before
Stirred in his heart, felt rooted in his haire,
How could he take her to the rocky shore
And pushe her offe a cliffe without a care?
Thou gettest softe, he told himself. Be brave.
‘My dear,’ said he, and on her cheek he kiss’d,
‘I’ve booked three days awaye near Smuggler’s Cave,
To make up for the honeymoon we miss’d.’
She clapped her hands, delighted, ‘Oh what fun,’
And straight’way went to pack her travel bagge.
A few days later, in the Springtyme sunne
The two of them stood on a clifftop cragge.
Tho’ Jack prepar’d for homicide moste foule
’Twas he began to slip on crumbled scree!
And as he dangled like a bathroom tow’l
He felt a strong hand drag him back to safety.
How could he kill her now? She’d saved his skinne.
And hand in hand, back to the inne they crept.
Thus love doth conquer alle…tho’ Jack broke in
And burgled wealthy homes while Kylie slept!
