I am a lonely minstrel.I was born in 1472 just outside Lower Wallop.My mother was a strumpet, so my father said, and he was a member of the local garrison. He died when I was seven. I was out picking turnips in the field when the news came and had I my harp I would have sung such a sad song. But alas I had not the training.I left home at nine to seek my fortune and variously worked with some travelling players and a guild of ostlers. It was during my time with these fine fellows that I happened upon a master minstrel, Thomas of Romsey who taught me how to pluck a lyre and sing a song that would make men weep and pluck at the very skirts of all womankind from your common harlot to the lady of the manor.But no-one sings with me it is I alone.
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