The Twa Corbies

Now for something completely different. It's all about me, or rather, my surname.

Corby means raven in mediaeval Scottish and English dialects. Ravens are scavengers (yep, that sounds about right). In fact there is a mediaeval poem/song called The Twa Corbies. There are lots of versions; here's one in modern English:

As I was walking all alone,
I heard two corbies make a moan,
The one unto the other said,
Where shall we go this day to dine?

Behind that old earthen dyke,
I see there lies a new-slain knight,
And none do know that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.

His hound is to the hunting gone,
His hawk to fetch the wild fowl home,
His lady's taken another mate,
So we can eat our dinner sweet.

You'll sit upon his neck bones,
While I pluck out his eyes of blue,
With his locks of golden hair,
We'll patch our nest when it grows bare.

Many a one for him is grieving,
But none shall know where he is gone,
Over his bones when they are bare,
The wind will blow forever more.

Which proves we Corbies have had a morbid interest in dead bodies for centuries.