<b><span> The Execution of Thomas Granger</span></b>
<span> (1625? – September 8, 1642 RIP) </span>
To explain this tale, I must regale,
some little-known history.
Tom Granger you see, was first to be,
executed so very bestialy.
Every child knows, how the story goes,
about the Plymouth Colony.
That pious lot, whom religion got,
and wanted to worship free.
A Godly bunch, they played a hunch
And bought themselves a boat.
The only fault that the Speedwell had,
was that it wouldn’t reliably float.
They prayed a lot and providence brought,
A ship that might just pass.
And off they sailed, though someone failed,
To bring along a compass.
Their Mayflower did dock on Plymouth Rock,
Though in Virginia was their deed.
But the Lord’s great hand had chosen that land,
So, on squatting they all agreed.
The place God revealed was an Indian field,
Where they ate all the native’s corn.
It was only fair, to steal their share,
Since the heathens weren’t reborn.
The Indians were dying, without Pilgrims trying,
from diseases they had never known.
So, the charming story, of Thanksgiving glory,
might be just a little bit over-blown.
Now Thomas Granger was a servant lad,
in the Plymouth congregation.
A sixteen-year-old boy, with a single joy,
he was hornier than all creation.
One fateful day, rather than pray,
Tom was boning lord Brewster’s mare.
A serving maid, announcing lunch was made,
discovered their torrid affair.
It being his task, the Magistrate did ask,
“Was this the first time you acted this way?”
<span> Tom said, “yes indeed”, but then did concede,</span>
He meant the first time today.
Now the Magistrate, did record the date,
of Tom’s most awful abomination.
Then famously asked he, of Thomas G,
had he had any other relation?
Thinking himself unmasked, Tom then asked,
“Are you inquiring about the master’s cow?”
Warning not to lie, the Magistrate asked “why?”,
Tom said, “She was better than the calves somehow.”
Now the Magistrate, disguising his hate,
begged Tom to please go on.
Tom first hesitated, then lovingly related,
that of two goats he had been overly fond.
The Magistrate, noted the hour was late,
but young Tom continued to drone.
Moving on to sheep, he did praises heap,
on the five that he had “known”.
“Is there more to know?”, as the candle burned low,
the Magistrate did finally plea.
Tom had hoped to avoid, but to fill the void,
He told him how he stuffed a turkey.
They had no law, but in the Bible they saw,
Tom had not invented bestiality.
Leviticus said, though all were long dead,
“If a man lies with a beast he must die.”
But as they read more, about stone age gore,
it said “and you must surely kill the beast.”
So, deeming it only fit, they dug a great pit,
As a place for the worms to feast.
As Tom stood there, they butchered the mare,
Then the cow and most the rest.
But as to sheep, they wondered which to keep,
Since the herd was not small at best.
Tom was made to choose, the ones to lose,
though we will never know if he lied.
It didn’t really matter, whose blood to splatter;
it was only important that five died.
I must conceit, that history may not repeat
but into irony it often roams.
The executioner’s name, that would later gain fame,
Was none other than one John Holmes.
The master’s Christian name, was equally lame,
Being the gentle word of “Love”.
It was all a sad irony, at least to me,
As poor Tom looked down from above.
Leniency for he, was not to be,
as they tossed in his last butchered lover.
They sprung the trap, the rope made a snap.
And the grave they proceeded to cover.
Many Christians you see, make claim to be,
Descendants of that murderous cult.
But Tom Granger for me, was a bestial prodigy,
And what he achieved I highly exult.
