Peasant Epigrams and Rhymes

[TH3GHOSTWAFFL3 489]

PEASANT EPIGRAMS AND RHYMES

 

BY

ALEKSEY THE YOUNGER

384 ES | 35 S.A.

 

 

What follows is a short selection of rhymes, epigrams, sayings, and so on and so forth, collected from Haeseni peasants in the northernmost lands. I spent several months at a time amongst them, staying in their villages in barns or the rare inn, learning their way of life, but what struck me above their simple lifestyles and muddy fields was the peasant’s love of dance, of songs, and of poetry. I quickly began to note down the most amusing, or witty, or delightful of their sayings. The oral tradition is very strong indeed in rural Haense and I suspect many of these rhymes are very old, though some are obviously much more recent inventions, a testament to the creativity at the heart of the simple soul.

                                                                                                          Dravi.

 

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Frederick thought he'd need a snack

So beneath his hair he slipped a fig

But seeing he needed a larger stack

Decided to invent the wig

 

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Josefa was a skillful s---

She slept around with ease

But she pleasured herself into a rut 

And now she's riddled with disease

 

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Elven maids spend well their countless years:

Inspecting their blood, from rational fears,

Lounging, idling, majestically reposing,

And to any son of Horen: exposing.

 

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The converted philosopher complained, for the priest

Had chosen to baptise with bird-sh-- again.

‘Could you not have used water at least?’

‘Ah, but this stuff mirrors your brain!’

 

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Elven noses are raised so nobly high 

Oh they love to snort that elven sky!

Pointing skyward, so sharp, so straight -

Hubris, in truth, is an appealing trait!

 

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Young Otto had a warty d---

So he called upon his lover young

And she gave each wart a tender lick 

And now she has a warty tongue 

 

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Godfrey boasted he'd won every fight

Said the future belonged to him

But wise old Marna, he could write,

So the oppressors' future looked grim

 

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Oh the shining, pure, silver state!

Where knowledge's damn holds a mighty flood

But in war they have a worried hate

Of spilling a single, pure, drop of blood

 

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I frolic amongst the flowers,

And I dance in every field,

I let slip such hours and hours,

And forget the sword and shield.

 

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In the manoeuvre Elves are second to none;

For though they can't recall a battle won,

They're true masters of the retreat -

Those elves, they've learned to trust their feet!

 

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The Orenian traveller pointed to his guide,

'My God! Compared to the stories, that Haenseman has such little hair!'

The guide turned without breaking his stride,

'My lord, that is a bear.'

 

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The Ruskan rightly kills the fox

When it steals of the bush the berry,

Yet lets alone his neighbour's ox

For neighbours must be merry.

 

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‘Did you hear? Mr Napier’s screwed an orc!

Spawning half-breed children, that’s never kindness!’

‘Screwed an orc? I don’t care about this half-breed talk,

I hope he finds a treatment for his blindness!’

 

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Two scholars were engaged with the question

Of how to tell apart the Nordling from the dog

Until one found the answer with this suggestion:

‘The dog has manners, the other is more like a hog.’

 

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Edited July 30, 2021 by TH3GHOSTWAFFL3