Knightwit, by Sir Garland Penrose
Constant, unending speeches from he
Who I’ve never heard of, neither will thee
So high on his high horse from where he yells
All his martial talent from a girl casting spells
Absolutely no substance—a leech of our time
Was shocking his blood did not ooze out as slime
No noble heroics, no valiant deeds
Just a boisterous elf with attention needs
A so-called man of honour—the honour of thieves
Speaking of fair fights with tricks up his sleeves
His name was just Ardghal, but he’d prefer to infer
That something about him was worthy of “ser”
Speaking of duels one-on-one, man to man
Then insisting a sorceress into the stands
Boasting of codes and of valiant creeds
Just a boisterous elf with attention needs
He talked highly of hope, yet he inspires naught
Tried to brush off his cheating when he was caught
There is no great honour in this “knight” I fear
The only thing great was the size of his ear
Were I to describe that dumb look on his face
Faced when his honour was ground into paste
Boasting of codes and of valiant creeds
All I saw was a liar that lies as he bleeds
