The royal party is jumpin.’
The gents are fine and gallant in tailored doublets over ruffled tunics, hose, and colorfully slashed breeches.The ladies are resplendent in vibrant, cleavage-boosting gowns – nobles in satin, brocade, damask..royals in sable, ermine, cloth of gold and purple silk.
Your hair is powdered and fluffy, your outfit recently cleaned, you even bathed your full body with herb or rose-scented water for the occasion.
The court is packed. Everyone who is anyone is in attendance: royals, noblemen and women, a bevy of great minds representing the arts, science and philosophy.
Music and laughter echo throughout the castle, and you feast on bronto-slabs of beef, veal, goat, mutton and suckling pig. You carelessly imbibe godale, mead, and every type of wine – Cyprian, Rhine, Malmsy, Grenache, and of course, nectar. You step, leap, twirl, dip around the enormous, marble dance floor of this royal court.
Everything is gravy.
Until your bladder threatens to explode.
You must poo-pee.