Minstrel´s Curse

Alas for you, ye varlet, for ye've jested at me song,
so rude and so ungraciously ye've done me mighty wrong.
And now I shall unleash on ye a mighty minstrel's curse!
The pun-nishment is terrible and goes from "bard to verse!"

May the fighters at the tournaments lay on ye fast and thick.
May thy face be dirty from a mudhole deep and slick.
May the fleas infest thy codpiece, may ye scratch until ye're sore.
May the jokes the jester tells ye be the ones ye heard before.

May the chilly winds of winter make ye shiver 'til ye shake.
May a draft blow out thy fire and the window bang and break.
May thy gate fall off its hinges and thy doorbell lose its chimes.
May ye live, as says the Chinamen, "in interesting times."

May thy hat fall in the river, may the holes grow in thy socks.
May the mice invade thy kitchen, may thy fields be full of rocks.
May thy fruit get brown and mouldy, may a wart grow on thy nose.
May the error in thy taxes be the one the audit shows.

May thy dog not growl at burglars and thy tomcat cease to hunt.
May thy horse turn fat and lazy and thy pigs all cease to grunt.
May thy lady be contentious and thy quarrels all be bad.
May thy lover never have ye -- though thy wife should think she had!