The Ballad of Master Three-Inch: A song by Juliette d’Aubigniy.

This song is mentioned in the story about her, and now here is the song itself.

 

Come hear now the story of good Master Three-Inch

Giver of pleasures no woman hath felt

A man who we know has never been pained by the pinch

Of trousers pulled up too high by your belt!

 

One day to a temple went good Master Three-Inch

A-seeking a lady of Calistria’s flock

He’d heard they were randy and it would be a cinch

To find one with which he could have a good …talk.

 

He found there one lady whose faith was enduring

As was her patience with the lies that he told

He acted as if he was truly believing

That her in’trest was in more than an off’ring of gold

 

Finally he gave up the gift to the temple

And she led him to her room for to help him in worship

She stripped of her robe and he stared at her bosom, crying

“Abadar’s coins, those are not elven tits!”

 

“I came to this temple to lay with an elf-girl

I thought that your ears might have just been short!

Your hips and your tits tell me you’re human!

I could lay such as you anywhere in the port!”

 

While she’d removed her robe, he’d let fall his trousers

Revealing to her his own manly pride

With an eye that was discerning and practiced she told him,

“Not with that little thing twixt your legs that I’ve spied.”

 

“Indeed,” she continued, her smile getting wider

“With one like that I admit my surprise

How do you show yourself in a bath-house

Or the cheapest of brothels with such a short …rise?”

 

Well, that brought a rage to the eye of the merchant

He raised up his hand to show her his wrath

But he was not watching the way he was stepping

Tripped on his pants and went headfirst on her bath.

 

When he awoke, his head was a-pounding

His trousers were on, if perhaps wrong-way round

He never did notice, all he saw was the note

Laying beside him, with his pouch, on the ground.

 

“Your worship’s not wanted, your coin is rejected,

Be glad we left you some of your dignity

Return at your peril, speak ill at your danger,

Be thankful for such a small sting of a bee.”

 

He picked up his pouch and left there the letter

And hauled himself off to a tavern to drink

While deep in his cups (of which there were many)

He ignored the warning and ne’er stopped to think

 

He told the story – ignoring the parts

Where he insulted the lady and embarrassed himself

Just telling how he was cheated by the Temple of Calistira

For giving him a human instead of a fine lady elf.

 

He spoke the name of the girl he had seen

And described her in the most unflattering ways

The bruise on his forehead, he defiantly claimed

Came when he demanded a refund for the lays

 

Word of the story ran back to the temple

The lady in question gave a smile quite mean

“He’ll find out, my friends, what a mistake he’s made

I’ll show him Calistria’s revenge can be keen.”

 

And she wrote the tale of good Master Three-Inch

(So called as his penis was three inches long)

She wrote in the name of Calistrian vengeance

And a bard’s vengeance is ever best done in song.

 

So remember the tale of rude Master Three-Inch

Learn well the lesson he never will:

Inspiring vengeance will come back to you

But no one e’er said that vengeance must kill.

 

Calistria is the goddess of Trickery, Lust and Revenge. The man who this song was written about was once seen enjoying it at its first public performance, before realizing it was about him, thus fulfilling all three of her domains: it happened when he was trying to satisfy his lust, it was written for revenge, and he was tricked into appreciating it first.



Posted by mephron

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