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The Borchester Bypassman
by Rosie T
 Many of us will remember Alfred Noyes' The Highwayman. Here's an Ambridge version, from the Fantasy Archers topic of .
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight looping the Lakey Hill,
And the Borchester Bypassman came riding
Riding riding
The Borchester Bypassman came riding, up to Casa Nueva's window sill.
He'd a Hungarian pink hat at his forehead, and a bunch of lace at his chin;
He'd a tee-shirt of tight, white rightness, and breeches of Â鶹ԼÅÄ Farm doe-skin.
They fitted with never a wrinkle; his waders were up to his thigh!
And he rode with a crash! bang! tinkle!
His rear offside lights a-twinkle
His exhaust-pipe twine a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky.
Over the cobbles he phuttered and clashed in Casa Nueva yard,
He tapped with his iPod on the shutters, but all was locked and barred,
He whistled "Crazy Frog" to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the pigman's black-eyed daughter
Em, the pigman's daughter
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.
And dark in the dark old Nueva yard, the pheasant-pen netting creaked
Where Will the gamekeeper listened - his face was white and peaked
His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like mouldy hay,
But he loved the pigman's daughter
The pigman's black-eyed daughter;
Dumb as Demeter he listened, as he heard his brother say:
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart; I'm after a prize tonight,
But I shall be back with the mooning gnomes before the morning light.
Yet if they press me sharply, and Brian me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Peggy should bar the way!"
He stood upright on the van top; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair in the window! His face burnt like a brand
As the sweet black waves of Canal Number Five came tumbling o'er his breast,
Then he kissed its waves in the moonlight
(O sweet black waves in the moonlight!),
And he tugged at his gearstick in the moonlight, and galloped away to the west.
More parodies - from Agatha Christie to Damon Runyon
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