 To my muse give attention, and deem it not a mystery, if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history. To sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying, she would die a maid, she, England, did a musee. But what she did, and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl a miracle of passions for her fed, sir, she kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Oh, rude ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir, no blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauteous been, sir. The envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir, nor with her guiltless blood have crimson'd or the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dying just like a pig, sir, and an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at a swig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank and found it hard, sir, and droves of oxen-daily bled within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous tyrannical and surly. If a patriot only touched on the queen or master burly she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. To my muse give attention and deem it not a mystery if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history, to sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did a musy, but what she did and what she died, I hope you will excuse me, a gallant earl, a miracle, a passion for her head, sir. She kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detailed by the queen, sir, she kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude, ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir. No blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauty has been, sir. The envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir. Nor with her guiltless blood have crimsoned all the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir. And an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at his wig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank confounded hard, sir, and droves of oxen daily bled within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous tyrannical and surly, if a patriot only touched on the queen all, master Burley, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to make him make his speeches through the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Parody on The Golden Days of Good Queen Bess, by Sir John Carr. Read for LibriVox.org by Kara Schellenberg. To my muse give attention, and deem it not a mystery, if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history, to sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did a musee, but what she did and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of passion for her fed, sir, she kissed him and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir, no blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauteous been, sir, the envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir, nor with her guiltless blood have crims and o'er the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir, and an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at a swig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank confounded hard, sir, and droves of oxen daily bled within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous, tyrannical, and surly, if a patriot only touched on the queen or master burly, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Parody on The Golden Days of Good Queen Bess by Sir John Carr. Read for LibriVox.org by Lucy Perry. To my muse give attention and deem it not a mystery if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history to sing the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did amuse-y. But what she did and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of passion for her fed, sir. She kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir. No blue eyes ever known, nor had she beautyous been, sir. The envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir. Nor with her guiltless blood have crimson over the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir. And an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at a swig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank and founded hard, sir. And droves of oxen daily bled within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous, tyrannical, and surly. If a patriot only touched on the queen or master burly, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Parody on the Golden Days of Good Queen Bess by Sir John Carr Read for LibriVox.org by Nancy Priff To my muse, give attention, and deem it not a mystery if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history to sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did a musy. But what she did, and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of passion for her, fed, sir. She kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude, ungrateful Scotland! Had thy desolated Queen, sir, no blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauty as been, sir, the envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir, nor with her guiltless blood have crimsoned or the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir, and an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at a swig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank confounded hard, sir, and droves of oxen daily bled within her palace-yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous tyrannical and surly. If a patriot only touched on the Queen or Master Burley, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Parody on The Golden Days of Good Queen Bess by Sir John Carr Read for LibriVox.org by Raven Notation To my muse give attention, and deem it not a mystery If I jumble up together music, poetry, and history To sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did a Newsy, but what she did, and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of passion for her fed, sir. She kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude, ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir. No blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauteous been, sir. The envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir. Nor with her guiltless blood have crimsoned over the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir. And an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at a swing, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank confounded hard, sir, and roves of oxen daily bled within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous, tyrannical, and surly, if a patriot only touched on the queen or master burlow. She'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Parody on The Golden Days of Good Queen Bess, by Sir John Carr. Read for LibriVox.org by Sean Michael Hogan. St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada. To my muse give attention and deem it not a mystery if I jumble up together music, poetry, and history to sing of the vices of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a mage, she, England, did a musee, but what she did and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of compassion for her fed to sir, she kissed him and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. Oh, rude ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir, no blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauty as bean, sir. The envy of our old rival hag she might have baffled, sir, nor with her guiltless blood have crimson'd or the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir, and an overrunning butt of sack she swallowed at us wigs, sir. Her brawny maids of honour ate and drank confounded herds, sir, and droves of oxen daily bled within her palace-yards, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous tyrannical and surly, if a patriot only touched on the queen or master burly, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In saying she would die a maid, she, England, did amuse ye. But what she did and what she died, I hope you will excuse me. A gallant earl, a miracle of passion for her fed, sir. She kissed him, and she closed the scene by striking off his head, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. O rude ungrateful Scotland, had thy desolated queen, sir, no blue eyes ever known, nor had she beauteous been, sir, the envy of our old rival, Hague, she might have baffled, sir, nor with her guiltless blood have crimson'd or the scaffold, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. She dressed just like a porcupine, and dined just like a pig, sir, and over running butt of sack she swallowed at a swig, sir. Her brawny maids of honour eat and drink confounded hard, sir, and droves of oxen daily blood within her palace yard, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. In ruling she was wondrous tyrannical and surly. If a patriot only touched on the queen or master burly, she'd send a file of soldiers in less than half an hour, sir, just to bid him make his speeches to the prisons of the tower, sir. Detested be the memory of Wicked Queen Bess, sir, whose memory posterity with blushes shall confess, sir. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.