[Kransha]

Ah, the noble warg and his master, the unsung heroes of unsungedness. What a marvellous concept has taken shape. I shall add my humble contribution, the lovingly paraphrased ballad. It is the sad story of the death of the regal Rawrrar, known to most as the Warg of Wantley, a vicious, gargantuan creature who wrough beautiful havoc on the small towns of the Westfold, and how he was smitten by the cunning Folc of Meduseld. So, without further ado.

The Warg of Wantley

Old stories tell how Gamgee, Sam
A spider slew at Ungol,
With six great legs and fourteen eyes,
To see and never bungle:
But he had Sting, this spider nothing,
Or he ne'er had done it, I warrant ye:
But Folc of Med-hall, with nothing at all,
He slew the Warg of Wantley.

This warg, he had two furious arms,
Each mounted 'neath each shoulder;
With a whip on his tail as long as a flail
Which made him bolder and bolder.
He had long claw's, and in his jaws
Four and forty teeth of iron;
With fur as tough as any buff,
Which did him round environ.

Have you not heard how the Trojan horse
Held seventy men in his belly?
This warg was just not quite so big,
But very near, I'll tell ye;
Devoured he poor children three,
That could not with him grapple;
And at one sup he ate them up,
As one would eat an apple.

All sorts of cattle this warg would eat,
Some say he ate up trees,
And that the forests sure he would
Devour up by degrees:
For houses and churches were to him geese and turkeys;
He ate all and left none behind,
But some stones, dear Jack, that he could not crack,
Which on the hills you will find.

Hard by a furious knight there dwelt;
Men, women, girls, and boys,
Sighing and sobbing, came to his lodging,
And made a hideous noise.
"Oh, save us all, Folc of Med-hall,
Thou peerless knight of these woods;
Do but slay this wolf, who our homes will engulf,
We'll give thee all our goods."

This being done, he did engage
To hew the warg beast down;
But first he went new armor to
Bespeak at Upbourn town;
With spikes all about, not within but without,
Of steel so sharp and strong,
Both behind and before, arms, legs, and all o'er,
Some five or six inches long.

Had you but seen him in this dress,
How fierce he looked, and how big,
You would have thought him for to be
Some Egyptian porcupig:
He frighted all, cats, dogs, and all,
Each cow, each horse, and each hog:
For fear they did flee, for they took him to be
Some strange, outlandish hedge-hog.

To see this fight all people then
Got up on trees and houses,
On churches some, and chimneys too;
But these put on their trousers,
Not to spoil their hose. As soon as he rose,
To make him strong and mighty,
He drank, by the tale, six pots of ale
And a quart of aqua-vitae.

It is not strength that always wins,
For wit doth strength excel;
Which made our cunning champion
Creep down into a well,
Where he did think this wolfhound would drink,
And so he did in truth;
And as he stooped low, he rose up and cried, "Oh!"
And kicked him in the mouth.

"Oh," quoth the warg with a deep sigh,
And turned six times together.
Sobbing and tearing, cursing and swearing
Out of his throat of leather:
"Folc of Med-hall, O thou rascal,
Would I had seen thee never;
With the thing at thy foot thou hast pricked my throat,
And I'm quite undone forever. "

"Murder, murder," the warg did cry,
"Alack, alack, for grief;
Had you but missed that place, you could
Have done me no mischief."
Then his head he shaked, trembled and quaked,
And down he laid and cried;
First on one knee, then on back tumbled he;
So groaned, and kicked, and died.