Once upon a time in merry old England there was a terrible highwayman who terrorized any who dared to take to the roads. He robbed from the rich, he gave the poor bruises for having nothing worth stealing, and eventually he was captured. Needless to say the entire countryside turned out for his hanging. Dejected, bruised and broken the highway man was lead to the gallows where his dead eyes slowly surveyed the baying crowd. Yet as he reached the edge of the crowd light rekindled in his eyes.
Standing straight he stepped forward and demanded to deliver his last words. At the hangman's nod the highwayman implored to crowd to remember he was from a small village raised in a thatched cottage, that his father was a tanner of mediocre skill, and his mother one legged. On and on he relayed the details of his life and the hangman's patience grew thin. In the middle of the a tale of the highwayman's amorous pursuit of Bessie, either the milk maid or the source of her produce, the hangman snapped.
"Is there any point to this diatribe?" He snarled
"No." The highwayman grinned back.
"Then why have you been blathering on?" The hangman wanted to know.
"I noticed that storm cloud on its way," The highwayman said helpfully, "And I wanted to make sure you all get drenched."
