Men of Harlech, waken all
Rise up and man the walls
Let iron clad thy spectral bones
Hold hard those ancient stones

By myth you've journied overland
From rocky cliff to golden sand
Thy walls and towers, every stone
Thy knights and garrison, as one

Hear thee now, the trumpet's cry?
Invaders, summoned by a lie
Surround your non-existent wall
Saying "Where?" and "Is this all?"

Why are they invading Brancaster?
"A book," they say, "by an ancestor"
Whose the culprit? Whose to blame?
Guy Scoby Rix; that is his name!

Hermit, 26 March 2001.