Hypocorism
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- Mar 19, 2009
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(In Clerihews)
When Charlemagne of France the Frisian sea-power did swallow,
Which ruled the waves, into the breach there sailed a Viking named Rollo,
Of piratical bent and noble blood, grasping for anything handy;
He hent from France the fertile, apple-studded coast of Normandy.
A William and two Richards (`the fearless' and `the good')
Between Rollo and the most famed of all Vikings' sons' father stood;
He, a Norseman by paternal blood, clept Robert the Magnificent,
Was then so French, his going a-pilgrimage seemed hardly significant.
But Robert from his donjon, not yet thirty, did espy a-stomping one Herleva,
Plaits aflutter, rather dirty round her uncured hides. A veritable tanning diva,
He would not dare to intern one by force
Who for her part insisted that she ride in on a horse.
William the First
Had barely burst
From the wrong womb, and all that,
That he resolved to become history's best French bureaucrat.
Robert said, `By my faith, I will not leave ye lordless. I have a young bastard,
Of whose good qualities I have great hope. Take him, I pray you, for your lord.
That he was not in wedlock born, it little signifies to you; nonetheless,'
(The boy was seven), `he will be fit in battle or to render justice.'
As much more than a single cillium
Bristled the rebellions fiercely quelled by William;
And when they mocked the trade his mother's father plied,
He signed his name, `Guliemus Nothus,' or sometimes tanned their hide.
One ever-present problem plagues all kings: naming a successor;
Most plagued of all was England's sainted Edward the Confessor.
A great-aunt's claim to kingship and the blessing of the Pope
Assembled William's knights, whom fat he battened in the fields of hope.
The Spanish Armada numbered 130 ships, while Julius Caesar
Built as many for 8000 legionnaires; yet, Rome put Britain in the freezer
For a hundred years. William the Conquerer
Sailed 7000 men in his 600 ships, and conquered her.
(We compute England's beauty then to total 600 millihelens
In the middle ages; yet such numbers rise with the tellings
Due to inflation, and to economic growth.
Today this number roughly is 600 helens, counting both.)
When Harold Godwinson, the usurping Earl of Essex
Pursued a Viking claimant north to Yorkshire, William nearing Sussex
Beached his ships upon the famed Pevensey Bay
In wait for Harold, if he won the day.
William's cavalry lent Harold's footmen their thorough bastings
On the fields of Senloc Hill, in a Borough known as Hastings.
In the battle, Harold, stories say, was slain like Manderson,
An archer's arrow through his shattered Andersen.
Not to leave important work undone,
The Conquerer's army next converged on London;
It crossed the Thames at Wallingford,
And assumed on Christmas Day, 1066, the Crown for its reward.
The King enserfed the Anglo-Saxon nobles; whence he took
Exhaustive records of their real estate, and this he named the Domesday Book.
He was wise to do this, for the all-important work of governing a nation
Lies mostly not in conquest, but administration.
European commerce swelled with William; the moneylending Jews
Who came with him, financing trade, his progeny later much ill-used:
On finding they were overdue all they were worth in taxes,
Edward I ejected all the thirteenth century Goldmans, Sachses.
And foreshadowed in his war for Normandy itself, opposing his son Robert,
Are all the wars with France; here was Richard arrowed like a robber,
Trying to assert his mineral rights.
(Bad King John gave up for centuries on all these fights.)
The Conquerer bravely vasticated a rebellious Yorkshire
And burnt Mantes down at one comment that was particularly immature:
You're so fat, said the King of France, the cathedrals will celebrate with candles
When you finally give birth; William said, I'll show you candles!
But when at this jejune comment of France's king Philip
William gave his horse a bit too striking a filip,
The old fat king tumbled down its side
And from this graceless fall he shortly died.
How like gallantest of grandsons, Henry V,
Was this most courageous and industrious of kings therewith
Dispatched astride of France, his native and heriditary land,
That so faltering, his sons should be the greatest kings-- of England!
Now, the legacy of William's duchy
In France isn't much, ye
Can see the isles of Jersey and Guernsey from France, a haven
For taxes nowadays if you're a financial maven.
When Charlemagne of France the Frisian sea-power did swallow,
Which ruled the waves, into the breach there sailed a Viking named Rollo,
Of piratical bent and noble blood, grasping for anything handy;
He hent from France the fertile, apple-studded coast of Normandy.
A William and two Richards (`the fearless' and `the good')
Between Rollo and the most famed of all Vikings' sons' father stood;
He, a Norseman by paternal blood, clept Robert the Magnificent,
Was then so French, his going a-pilgrimage seemed hardly significant.
But Robert from his donjon, not yet thirty, did espy a-stomping one Herleva,
Plaits aflutter, rather dirty round her uncured hides. A veritable tanning diva,
He would not dare to intern one by force
Who for her part insisted that she ride in on a horse.
William the First
Had barely burst
From the wrong womb, and all that,
That he resolved to become history's best French bureaucrat.
Robert said, `By my faith, I will not leave ye lordless. I have a young bastard,
Of whose good qualities I have great hope. Take him, I pray you, for your lord.
That he was not in wedlock born, it little signifies to you; nonetheless,'
(The boy was seven), `he will be fit in battle or to render justice.'
As much more than a single cillium
Bristled the rebellions fiercely quelled by William;
And when they mocked the trade his mother's father plied,
He signed his name, `Guliemus Nothus,' or sometimes tanned their hide.
One ever-present problem plagues all kings: naming a successor;
Most plagued of all was England's sainted Edward the Confessor.
A great-aunt's claim to kingship and the blessing of the Pope
Assembled William's knights, whom fat he battened in the fields of hope.
The Spanish Armada numbered 130 ships, while Julius Caesar
Built as many for 8000 legionnaires; yet, Rome put Britain in the freezer
For a hundred years. William the Conquerer
Sailed 7000 men in his 600 ships, and conquered her.
(We compute England's beauty then to total 600 millihelens
In the middle ages; yet such numbers rise with the tellings
Due to inflation, and to economic growth.
Today this number roughly is 600 helens, counting both.)
When Harold Godwinson, the usurping Earl of Essex
Pursued a Viking claimant north to Yorkshire, William nearing Sussex
Beached his ships upon the famed Pevensey Bay
In wait for Harold, if he won the day.
William's cavalry lent Harold's footmen their thorough bastings
On the fields of Senloc Hill, in a Borough known as Hastings.
In the battle, Harold, stories say, was slain like Manderson,
An archer's arrow through his shattered Andersen.
Not to leave important work undone,
The Conquerer's army next converged on London;
It crossed the Thames at Wallingford,
And assumed on Christmas Day, 1066, the Crown for its reward.
The King enserfed the Anglo-Saxon nobles; whence he took
Exhaustive records of their real estate, and this he named the Domesday Book.
He was wise to do this, for the all-important work of governing a nation
Lies mostly not in conquest, but administration.
European commerce swelled with William; the moneylending Jews
Who came with him, financing trade, his progeny later much ill-used:
On finding they were overdue all they were worth in taxes,
Edward I ejected all the thirteenth century Goldmans, Sachses.
And foreshadowed in his war for Normandy itself, opposing his son Robert,
Are all the wars with France; here was Richard arrowed like a robber,
Trying to assert his mineral rights.
(Bad King John gave up for centuries on all these fights.)
The Conquerer bravely vasticated a rebellious Yorkshire
And burnt Mantes down at one comment that was particularly immature:
You're so fat, said the King of France, the cathedrals will celebrate with candles
When you finally give birth; William said, I'll show you candles!
But when at this jejune comment of France's king Philip
William gave his horse a bit too striking a filip,
The old fat king tumbled down its side
And from this graceless fall he shortly died.
How like gallantest of grandsons, Henry V,
Was this most courageous and industrious of kings therewith
Dispatched astride of France, his native and heriditary land,
That so faltering, his sons should be the greatest kings-- of England!
Now, the legacy of William's duchy
In France isn't much, ye
Can see the isles of Jersey and Guernsey from France, a haven
For taxes nowadays if you're a financial maven.