In the olden days of France,
I had a rival there by chance.
His name was Gaston Le Pierre

For we were both great rivals ,
not for money or survival
but for a certian young lady who lived there

Her name was Belle Marie,
wooed by both Gaston and me
who sent her flowers and poetry beyond compare

We hated one another
that he should try to love her
I said to myself "It can't be right"

"That if he should try to win her love
I will answer it with the glove,
and for her love we must fight".

He must have though the same,
for there, standing in the rain,
was a messenger all in grey with a letter

It said "Oh pitiful fool,
I challange you to a duel
We will see through force of arms who is better"

I soon sent a reply
and though that I may die
I will not let this braggart win without a fight.

"If you wish to have Bell Marie,
You must first fight with me
tomorrow at dawns early light

Though swords I'll accept this fight
and in the dawn's early light
we will see who is the better man

Although deuling is not allowed
many noble and the proud
has danced the duel with sword in hand"

And there in the dawn's faintest light
I gathered all my might
and listened to the silence fall throughout the land

I saw Gaston Le Pierre
for he was also there
Not afraid to take his sword in hand

It was then we started fighting,
our moves were silver lighting
both of us were aiming for the heart

A thousand thrusts and parries
and though our fighting styles did vary
it seemed we were perfectly matched from the start

Yet through fate or luck
the death blows were both struck
as Belle Marie ran across the field

She stared at us tranfixed
and at our blades that were affixed
through her body and she knew her fate was sealed

She said "Though I loved you both dear
and believed I must appear
for I love you each as a brother

I wanted only peace
and the deuling just to cease
and to tell you I had another lover"

She got her final wish
as her cold lips we kissed
and hid her bloody body far away

Gaston and I have a truce
and we both fear hangmans noose
We heartily deny there was such a fray

Now we are good friends
our merriment hardly ends
for we possess both poise and class

and if anyone should ask
of Belle Marie, our lover past
We merely toast her name and have another glass