Guido Fawkes and Nell the Fig: the Explosive Truth.


There once was a King named James

On whom history always blames

A number of quite heinous crimes

In foul and feeble semi- rhymes.

And yet perhaps the worst of all;

The one historians don’t recall,

Is a tale of something rather big,

Of Guido Fawkes and Nell the Fig.

Poor James had proved to be the worst

At following Queen Liz the first,

And Catholics hated his new foible

Of an English version of the Bible.

They met in secret, speaking treason,

Considering they had good reason

And cause enough to find the means

To blow the king to smithereens.

And one of them who talks the talk,

A gentleman named Guido Fawkes,

Became their chosen instrument

To blow up James’s Parliament.

Yet Guido’s heart was flowing over,

A-pounding in poetic clover,

For a filly in a powdered wig

Known to all as Nell the Fig.

She had him dangling on a rope,

With promises to make him hope

That in the coming days and weeks

He might slip in between her sheets.

And thus, when James’s foes conspired

They quickly saw what was required

A billet-doux from Mistress Nell

Could damn their foolish king to hell.

Poor Guido Fawkes received the note.

He donned his best beloved coat

His shiny shoes, his froth of lace

And dreamed of amorous disgrace.

For penned in Nelly’s crabby hand

A rendezvous for two was planned,

Where she would give unending pleasure

All day and night, at Guido’s leisure.

So filled with lust, the lucky fella

Set off at once to Nelly’s cellar

Which lay beneath the very boards

That housed the King and all his Lords.

“Sweet Nelly,” he cried out, “sweet Nell,”

For in the dark he could not tell

His Nelly’s face and Nelly’s end

From barrels set there by his friends.

And so he took his love’s advice;

He never needed telling twice;

To spark a light and strike a fuse

The better to embrace his muse.

And just as had been long expected

The hapless lover was detected

But not by Nelly’s beauteous face,

Instead he felt the guard’s embrace

So having sought a lovers’ bower

He found himself cast in the Tower

Protesting innocent intent

And not the harm they thought he meant.

Alas no words could save him now

And, forced to take his final bow,

He spoke his love for Nell the Fig,

Fruit seller at sign of the pig.

And as his friends were hunted down,

Accused of crimes against the crown,

Guido walked with limbs all loose

To place his head inside a noose.

Since then, historians have chosen

To paint his story all a-rosen

And claim him as a Catholic martyr

A sort of reputation barter:

They won’t admit the simple truth,

Of amorous and callow youth,

Guy cared nought for political measures,

But only hoped for Nelly’s pleasures.

Remember, remember, the fifth of November

Gunpowder, treason and plot.

I see no reason why Nelly’s true season

Should ever be forgot.



Far between.

Jeff R Vescent might be. Equally, he might not be. That is the question.


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