A ballad of Bree-land recounting the death of Billy Foxtail, originally circulated shortly after the burning of Archet. It was initially popularised among singers in Combe and Archet before being soon transmitted to Bree-town where it was first printed. A broadside preserving a Bree-town variant of the ballad titled "The Flowers of Archet" is held in the Scholar's Stair Archives in Bree-town, illustrated with a picture of Billy dying in the street and his killer escaping into the night. Other collected variants bear such titles as "Bold Billy," "Bold Billy Foxtail," and "The Unheeded Mother."
The FLOWERS of ARCHET
Come all you young fellows who brandish a sword,
Beware making wagers you cannot afford,
For Bold Billy Foxtail’s gone up to Bree-town,
With his death soon a-coming when the sunlight dies down.
He’s sat with the players; the liquor’s all drunk;
Bold Billy’s grown bolder with each emptied cup.
His winnings have stirred him to argue o’er cards—
Now he’s promised to fight past the sight of the guards.
At the table says Billy, “I’m not scared of you,
For I’ve slain a foul brigand with one violent hew,
Come fight me you players, come one or come all,
For surely I’ll prove that each player shall fall.”
He’s shown that swift sword that he wears at his belt,
And lain down to table the hand he’s been dealt.
He’s walked out the tavern, he’s quit the card table,
A decision that shortly shall prove to be fatal.
He’s drawn his sword quick as he has once before,
But before he can strike, his body’s hurt sore,
For the player he fights is a fencer of skill,
And cruel-hearted players e'er strike for the kill.
The sun’s going down and the streets, they run red,
With the blood of Bold Billy who’s soon to be dead—
When the sun in the sky rises up the next morn,
He’s dead for the sword he had so proudly worn.
The girl that he loves is now crying aloud,
Keening for the boy who was always too proud.
Now the killer’s run free for no player dared say
The name of the swordsman that killed him that day.
Young Billy the Bold was a brave-hearted fencer,
But overbold bets led him to misadventure,
And now the Bree-streets are bestained with his blood,
And the flowers of Archet nipped early in the bud.
