”I to your son will give my Anne”
Fierce Warwick glowered “Though not a man
Can hold a candle to lord Gloucester
Who beats his breast now he has lost ‘er
But ere I to lost England go
This one important fact I’ll know –
Though I e’er after be called mean
I shall my daughter see a queen.”
And what to this said Anjou’s bitch?
Whose life was never without hitch
“They’ll not lie as one under my roof
And so there never shall be proof
That they be wed. I’ll scorn you yet!
For we’ll fall out ere long, I’ll bet.”
But Warwick smiled for he foreknew
What sexy little Anne would do
He had no fears she’d not be queen
For he had once been seventeen
And knew the prince could not resist
That tender flower once he’d been kissed.
“Eeeeeeeew!” Anne shrieked years later when she read this. “Is this guy sick or what?”
“Never mind that, sweetheart,” Richard or Dickon said, who had a surprising amount of stamina for one so frail and angelic®. “Come back to bed, or I shall start pining and beating my breast.”
Anne couldn’t get there quick enough! For not only did their childhood passion still burn after all these years, there was only one way she knew of scrubbing that particular image out of her head.
The balladeer had been right about the queen bit, though.