Fake accent, fake voice. Deepening via Morph Vox and Cool Edit.
Traditional English Ditty.
Loving Mad Tom
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(ANONYMOUS AUTHORSHIP)
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From the hag and hungry goblin
That into rags would rend ye
All the spirits that stand by the naked man
In the Book of Moons defend ye !
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken
Nor wander from yourselves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.
While I do sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
O thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whip's ding dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty.
And now I sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruise of cockle potage
With a thing thus tall, sky bless you all,
I befell into this dotage.
I slept not since the Conquest,
Till never then I waked
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stripped me naked.
And now I sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
When I have shorn my sour face
And swigged my horny barrel
In an oaken inn I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.
The moon's my constant Mistress
And the lonely owl my marrow,
The flaming drake and the nightcrow make
Me music to my sorrow.
And now I sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
The palsy plagues my pulses
When I prig their pigs or pullen,
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your chanticleer, or sullen ;
When I want provant, with Humphrey
I sup ; and when benighted
I repose in Paul's with waking souls,
Yet never am affrighted.
But I do sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
I know more than Apollo,
For oft when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wooded welkin weeping ;
The moon embrace her shepherd
And the queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horn the star of morn
And the next the heavenly Farrier.
While I do sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
The Gipsy snap and Pedro
Are none of Tom's comradoes.
The punk I scorn and the cutpurse sworn
And the roaring boys' bravado.
The meek, the white, the gentle,
Me handle, touch, and spare not,
But those that cross Tom Rynosseros
Do what the panther dare not.
Although I sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
With an host of furious fancies,
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear, and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander,
By a knight of ghosts and shadows
I summoned am to tourney,
Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end.
Me thinks it is no journey.
Yet I will sing "Any food, any feeding,
Feeding, drink, or clothing"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
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Obviously, from the lyrics, the narrating character should be an ELDERLY personage as well as a (NOT very well) nutcase.
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4:09
"Tom O'Bedlam's Song" Anon, 16th centuryby SpokenVerse5,741 views
Oh dear, Oh dear, Oh dear. Sounds like a music hall song with a working class accent to add authenticity and to hide the bad voice.
meandmymandola 3 years ago