Come on, all you Arts and Scientists,
Who labor night and noon,
Tell me why should warriors on the lists
Have all the inspiring tunes?
Touting war and might and conquest,
Spilling blood and guts and all.
Leaving farmers, cooks, and brewers
Standing silent in the hall.
A salute from all the singers
To the folks who stitch and sew,
If we didn t have the garb you make,
We'd be nude from head to toe.
So hold high your thread and needle.
We propose a toast, forsooth!
To the stitchers who protect us
From the unembroidered truth.
To purveyors of the scribal arts
Who fight with brush and pen
And delight in writing alphabets
Which exceed the heralds ken.
Let's salute the quill-pen pushers!
Make their marks upon the rolls!
They are ruining their eyesight
By illuminating scrolls.
A salute to leather workers
And to all their kith and kin,
Who spend all their living hours
Making goodies out of skin.
As they sew with mighty sinews
Looking proud and standing tall.
You can tell the leather workers,
Cause they always give their awl.
Drink a tincture to the herbalists,
Growing bushes with a smell
They can cook you up a remedy
For when you feel unwell.
With oregano and rosemary
They can make a dish sublime.
So let's hear it for the herbalists,
They will grow on you in thyme.