Less Than Good King Wenceslas

      Almost everyone has heard the popular Christmas carol "Good King Wenceslas," which tells the heartwarming tale of the kindly Czech king who took alms to a poor peasant at yuletide and miraculously saved his trusty page from dying of exposure during their mission of mercy (it could be pointed out that the page would have been snugly sleeping in his warm bed if the king had not dragged him out into the snow in the first place, but that's as may be). The lyrics were set down by Englishman John Mason Neale in the 19th century, and are supposedly taken from an old Czech poem celebrating the deeds of the generous monarch.
      Few are aware, however, that Neale took many liberties with his source material in order to burnish the reputation of the less-than-saintly Wenceslas. The truth only recently came to light when an early, authoritative manuscript of the Czech poem was found behind one of the toilet tanks in the men's room of the Municipal Library of Prague. The newly-discovered document reveals that it was not the king's page who was in attendance with the king but his minstrel. The Broken Stove's resident experts in 14th Century Czech Lavatory Music are proud to present the first English translation of this important cultural discovery, complete with the original stage directions (see footnotes).

The first verse is exactly as Neale's familiar translation records it:

Good King Wenceslas looked out, on the Feast of Stephen,
When the snow lay round about, deep and crisp and even;
Brightly shone the moon that night, tho' the frost was cruel,
When a poor man came in sight, gath'ring winter fuel.

It's not until the second verse that Neale diverges from the original Czech, and his bowdlerizing becomes apparent. Having seen the peasant, the king calls on his minstrel:

Bring me wine and bring me flesh, bring me faggots hither,
Write a song of my largesse, play it on the zither,¹
Make me sound magnanimous, handsome and endow-éd,
If it does not gladden Us, you'll be dis-em-bowel-éd.²

Make my song have harmonies, pleasing to the senses,
Or I'll hoist your progeny, high on pointy fences³
All your children will be killed, while you watch in horror,
But their entrails won't be spilled,⁴ 'til I've had your daugh-augh-ter.⁵

Take⁶ these faggots and this wood, take them with my blessing,
These kittens are mickle good, try them with the dressing,
Someone fetch the minstrel's lass, while he is composing,
Drink my toast and raise your glass, "May the Queen keep doh-oh-zing."

¹(meat, wine & faggots are brought--the latter are gaily dressed, carrying wood; dancing, merriment)
²(dancing, merriment stop; long, uncomfortable pause; king finally laughs heartily; dancing, merriment resume--less gaily now)
³(dancing, merriment stop)
⁴(fermata on "spilled"; minstrel fawns pathetically)
⁵(minstrel flees back to castle, trying to remember where zither is kept)
⁶(king puts arm around peasant, who had made as if to wander off)