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Author's Note: As the Royal Library continues to retain me as their Writer-in-Residence, so I continue to write on their behalf. I flatter myself that this piece is subtler than the silly little ballad it seems at first glance -- but then, I always do.

- Arjah

The Lady and the Gambler

A young man I meant once out on the grey strand
With a packet of cards and his dice in his hand
And he spake not a word as he went on his way
But only sang la ta dum, la ta dum day.

Quoth I to the gambler, why pass you me by
With nary a word, nor a wink of your eye
See you such a fine lass go by every day?
Quoth he to me la ta dum, la ta dum day.

With drinking or sorrows hast thou lost thy tongue,
With shortness of wits so rare for so young
Or ist but my beauty that makes thee this way?
Sang he to me la ta dum, la ta dum day.

In a turn of the cards, quoth I to him then
May fortunes be lost and soon won again
Speak then, hast thou debts, that thou canst not pay?
Replied the young gambler, oh la ta dum day.

Good sir, spread thy cards, I laughing then said,
And let us together see how fortune's read
There's many a man for my service would pay,
But thee I'll charge only thy la ta dum day.

His cards he then gave with a trembling hand,
And merrily threw I them on the grey strand
Oh gambler, thy fortunes, I told the man gay,
Shall never be fairer than la ta dum day.

There's staves stand for battle, there's cups stand for whores,
There's hearts for the mothers that sigh for the wars,
There's suit for each woe in our poor world today,
But none for the singing of la ta dum day.

Leave gambling and prophecy on the grey strand,
Leave wars for the warriors, and take thou my hand,
Leaver prayer for the preachers, and with me then pray,
No more than our la ta dum, la ta dum day.

So off we together along the grey strand
The gambler and lady did walk hand in hand
And never a word to the weeping we say
But la ta dum, la ta dum, la ta dum day.

Morgana held the scroll with a shaking hand, reading the poem and sighing. She then looked down to her half completed sonnets, all garbles and failed rhyme. She considered briefly chucking the whole affair and doing away with writing altogether. As is often the impulse when confronted by superior works while struggling with your own. She leaned back, putting down the scroll and shook her head "no" she thought to herself "She'd not forgive you for quitting like that". Morgana decided to get back to her poetry, lest Arjah ask for any progress on her work the next time they met.