At the palace of William, Harold was royally entertained
With food and drink and song, while he was detained.
He was told the story of Aelfgyva and the travelling cleric.
Which is an earthy spice, not quite a holy relic.
Once there was a cleric who travelled far and wide,
Visiting the townsfolk, to spread the Gospel's tide.
He came to the farm of a landlord south of Paris,
And there he met Aelfgyva, the landlord's lovely niece.
That evening, just as he was about to be on his way,
There arose a storm, and the landlord bid him stay.
The only room he had for him was a servant's quarter,
Located, just down the hall from his brother's daughter.
While returning from his private duties,
The cleric mistook her room for his.
In the dark of night he touched her cheek,
And she called out: 'Sir, what manner of prophecy is this?'
Being well-versed in scripture,
The cleric quoted from Song of Songs
'My beloved put his hand through the door...'
Thinking in this way he might repair the wrong.
'Tell me more,' Aelfgyva asked, so innocent was she.
'A learned cleric as yourself must have more to say to me.'
'Then I'll tell you a riddle' the cleric told the child,
'And when you have knowledge, you'll remember me and smile.'
'A man with a baguette, which was not bread
Fed a woman with a mouth, which was not in her head.'
Now think on that a while and soon
You'll be sweetly dreaming in your bed.
But Aelfgyva would not let the cleric retire
Without first answering his riddle.
When he showed her how to kneed his dough
She called in vain 'Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!'
But soon she succumbed to pleasure's flood,
Satisfied by a baguette that was not food.
Bringing new meaning to the old saw,
That mankind does not live by bread alone.
The cleric went away, being conscious of the wrong,
Repented of his lust and carnal sin.
Weeks later this cleric came around again
And again he was their guest during a night of rain.
In the dark of night Aelfgyva came,
With appetite emboldened to his room,
The cleric was prepared to maintain virtue,
But tonight it was his innocence which was undone.
For Aelfgyva would not let the cleric retire
Without first answering his riddle.
And when she began to kneed his dough
It was he who called in vain 'Uncle! Uncle! Uncle!'
