Norman and Saxon - Words by Rudyard Kipling, Arrangement by Brian Bertrand

"My son," said the Norman Baron,
"I am dying and you will be heir,
To all the broad acres in England,
That William gave me for share,
When he conquered the Saxon at Hastings,
And a nice little handful it is,
But before you go over to rule it,
I want you to understand this.

The Saxon is not like us Normans,
His manners are not so polite,
But he never means anything serious,
'Til he talks about justice and rights,
When he stands like an ox in the furrow,
With his sullen-set eyes on your own,
And he grumbles 'This isn't fair-dealing.',
My son leave the Saxon alone.

You can horsewhip your Gascony archers,
Or torture your Picardy spears,
But don't try that game on the Saxon,
You'll have the whole brood 'round your ears,
From the richest old Thane in the country,
To the poorest chained serf in the field,
They'll be at you and on you like hornets,
And if you are wise you will yield.

But first you must master their language,
Their dialect, proverbs, and songs,
Don't trust any clerk to interpret,
When they come with the tale of their wrongs,
Let them know you know what they're saying,
Let them feel you know what to say,
Yes even when you want to go hunting,
Hear em out if it takes you all day.

They'll drink every hour of daylight,
And poach every hour of dark,
Its the sport, not the rabbits that they're after,
We've plenty of game in the park,
Don't hang them or cut of their fingers,
That's wasteful as well as unkind,
For a hard-bitten South-country poacher,
Makes the best man-at-arms you can find.

Appear with your wife and the children,
At their weddings, funerals, and feasts,
Be polite but not friendly with Bishops,
Be good to all poor parish priests,
Say 'we' 'us' and 'ours' when you're talking,
Instead of 'you fellows' and 'I',
Don't ride over seeds, keep your temper,
And never you tell 'em a lie!"