Damian Cranney (27/09/1949 / Liverpool)
Lady Caroline Rothclare
She was bad, cunning. pretty and bold,
And her story I must tell before I get old,
Her father an Earl who fell on hard times,
Turned Rogue and then was hung for his crimes
She was brought up a Lady, thought everyone fools,
Was devoid of Scruples, and obeyed no rules.
She could fence shoot, and out ride any man,
Reeking revenge, her reason to live and plan.
Two men she blamed for the family's woes,
Both would be Seen writhing in death's last throes,
The first, Lord D'arcy, an effeminate young buck,
Cheated her father at cards, he was now out of luck.
Confronting him at Boodles, exclusive gaming club,
In male attire, shocked members were, like rats in a tub,
Her verbal wit he could not match, her challenge he accepted,
He died at dawn, she ran him through, her skills he underated.
Lady Caroline Rothclare, her vengeance She would follow,
But she needed money, or all her plans were Hollow,
Dressed in black She wore a mask, a pistol adorned each hip,
And many a highway coach was robbed by her daring Ladyship.
The second man she blamed the most, a Banker without heart,
Extension to her Fathers loan, he would in no way part,
she was of course not right to take this evil point of view,
But hatred blinds our thoughts and so she Killed him too.
I would like to say, her evil ways were punished by the law,
But her life was long and happy and eventually she saw,
that life could be much better, If she turned her back on crime,
And now she very rarely robs, she just doesn't have the time.
Comments about this poem (Lady Caroline Rothclare by Damian Cranney )
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