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The Ballad of Saint Bunstable

Master Cerian Cantwr            

Guard the wine, guard the wine.
No matter what may happen, you make sure that wine stays hid.
Guard the wine, guard the wine.
Now we all guard our wine like Saint Bunstable did.

In an abbey on the coast of dear old England's shores,
An alcoloyte, named Bunstable, was told to do his chores.
He did not have an inkling of just what fate had in mind,
Patron saint of fermentation, alcohaul, beer, mead, and wine.

Bunstable, he was a simple soul, he wasn't very bright.
But he did his duty faithfully, morning, noon, and night.
His chores, they weren't too complex, for that would tax his head.
On in particular was simple. This is what his abbot said:

One fateful day came Viking raiders, like a dark wave on the coast.
The abbey was unable to repel the Norsemen's host.
Bunstable was in the cellar, heard them slaughter young and old.
And though trembling with fear, he knew to do as he'd been told.

The cellar door it had been locked, but the Vikings would break through
So grimly looking round, he knew exactly what to do.
He broke open each and every cask, he did not think of flight.
And when the deed was done, he'd drunk every drop in sight.

When the Vikings came downstairs, they were somewhat less than pleased
That Bunstable had drunk the wine, there was none to be siezed.
They threatened Bunstable with flame, but when fire met his breath,
There was a great explosion, and they all burned to death.

When the Vikings reached Valhalla, they were certainly surprised,
And for his act of brav'ry Bunstable was canonized.
It truly is a miracle, to drink up as he did,
And it is to his credit that he kept the wine well hid.

© 1992 Charles Grab
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