Burying Edward : 無料・フリー素材/写真
Burying Edward / Giles Watson's poetry and prose
| ライセンス | クリエイティブ・コモンズ 表示-継承 2.1 |
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| 説明 | An old song lyric. This comes with a double health warning: (1) the rhymes, scansion and laboured archaisms are distinctly Ingoldsbyesque; (2) it is rather rude. You have been warned.Burying Edward(Words by Giles Watson. Music by Kathryn Wheeler, 1999.)Edward was a happy chap, a nimble-footed fencer.No one living had acquired acquaintances immenser,Until one day they made him King and waved a smoky censerAnd put a scepter in his hand and called him their Defensor.He drank and danced the year away, his ministers grew tenser.He was garrulous with Gaveston, he dallied with Despenser.Isabella of Boulogne he married by arrangement.It was a marriage made in hell, their mutual enragement:Isabella cursed the day they sealed their engagement,“My husband goes to bed with men! Oh! What uncouth derangement!I want divorce! I want him dead, to free me from enslavement!”Thus Isabella wrung her hands, lamenting their estrangement.They imprisoned him at Kenilworth, imprisoned him in Gloucester;They had him guarded night and day by soldiers on a roster,But Isabella grumbled that his upkeep sorely cost her.She said, “I hope that Edward dear has said his Pater noster!I’ll send someone to do him in, a secret sly imposter!”Temptations of this grisly kind nightly did accost her.Isabella shooed away her servants and retainers;She called a murderer to her side, “Though it must deeply pain us,Edward must be finished off: his lechery is famous!Make it quick and leave no mark; his blood must never stain us.”“Oh how do I do that?” he said. She cried, “Oh Lord sustain us!You take a poker from the fire and shove it up his anus!"They crept into the cell that night as Edward knelt to pray.The murderers were dressed like monks in habits gaunt and grey,An awful screaming pierced the night, ‘twas heard ten miles away;Amid the fog the gasp of death bad conscience did betray:For Isabella blenched with fright, Oh, hellfire will repay!She was abed when Edward’s screams disturbed her at her play.They buried him within the Abbey, beneath a tomb of stone,And every night the monks sang mass, this evil to atone.Incline your ear to the walls, hear Edward’s dying groan,Or listen to the wind at night: the spectral mourners’ moan,And watch the ghostly funeral, the figures white as bone,Processing at the dead of night through Gloucester streets alone.Source material: an embellishment of historical fact. The song refers to King Edward II of England, by all accounts an enlightened and sensitive man, but an unwilling King. He had been forced to marry Isabella of Boulogne in order to curb his homosexual tendencies, but he afterwards engaged in affairs with his successive advisors, Piers Gaveston and Hugh Despenser, both of whom also died, by beheading and hanging, drawing and quartering respectively. Isabella and her lover Roger Mortimer overthrew the king, but the threat posed by his many supporters prompted Isabella to have him murdered. The manner of Edward’s death is described somewhat coyly in Eileen Fry’s Ghost Trails of Gloucester’s Past (p. 6): “He was outnumbered and his desperate cries were heard all over the castle. It is said that a red hot poker and a horn were used to carry out the awful murder. This made sure that there were no visible injuries on the body of Edward. This method had been used to kill homosexuals before.” The ghostly noises and spectral manifestations are also recorded by Eileen Fry (pp. 7-12). The picture shows the tomb of Edward II in Gloucester Cathedral. |
| 撮影日 | 2013-01-05 11:27:56 |
| 撮影者 | Giles Watson's poetry and prose , Oxfordshire, England |
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| カメラ | PENTAX Optio WG-1 , PENTAX |
| 露出 | 0.067 sec (1/15) |
| 開放F値 | f/3.5 |
| 焦点距離 | 5 mm |