Hy-Jinx, snaps instantly out of her reverie, her eyes dotting the crowd to locate the heckler and upon doing so, stabs a finger pointedly towards them and exuberantly exclaims “Barry Beerpots it is!” - a devilish grin upon her face as if she’s secretly been wanting to sing this from the get go but needed permission…As if she’s deliberately bated them with a song so overly morose that it could not have not gotten this reaction. Without missing a beat she launches forth, the atmosphere instantly changing:

Barry Beerpots liked to drink

A small one every morn

Then follow it up with several sups

from his overflowing horn

Hey!

As Hy-Jinx begins to regale the inn with the one hundred and eight increasingly ruder and ruder verses of The Tragic Demise of Barry Beerpots, punctuated at various points by small dramatic asides to aid the narrative, Hood gathers his belongings and, shaking his head, makes his way barefoot through the boisterous crowd towards Millicent, to negotiate a room for the evening.

[Hood walking across the bar room, Hy-Jinx in the background]

By lunchtime he was feeling ill

By evening he was nasty

But he soaked it up and pulled around

By eating a Mencil pastie*.

[*a visual aside detailing the delights and size of the pasties of Mencil]

Hood holds up a single finger to communicate his needs - one single room, and only a single room, for he knows the old adage that a Jester’s place is by the fire, and judging by the reaction of the crowd there can be no argument with this wisdom.

He continued thus for six days hence

And never changed his britches

And so my friends it thus makes sense

As to why he got the itches

Millicent hands Hood a large iron key and motions to one of the servers to show Hood to his room, a surprisingly clean and spacious arrangement which promises a good night’s sleep.

And so he drank and itched and scratched

And itched and scratched some more

And the more he scratched the more he drank

To alleviate the sore.