Time for a ripping yarn, knights of old, chivalry and all that stuff.
It was the feast of King Faust, the day of the joust,
And the weather was decidedly chilly.
The frost on the ground made a soft crunching sound
Under the hooves of Sir Lancelot’s filly.
He’d been up with the lark, and it was still somewhat dark
As he rode through Castle Camelot’s gate.
His earnest intent was to win the tournament,
So he was determined not to be late.
With sword and lance he was furnished, his armour well burnished,
All polished by John, his loyal squire.
They made quite a display as they set out on their way,
Both dressed in their finest attire.
Ahead lay a hard fight with the notorious Black Knight,
Sir Lancelot’s old formidable foe;
And as metal met metal, a score they would settle;
This day down in history would go.
The beautiful Guinevere, she was sure to be there,
Watching the contest from the grandstand.
Although they were not married, her colours he carried
And if he won he would ask for her hand.
Before that could be done, there was a fight to be won,
The squire had his knight to prepare;
With a hand that was steady, John got Sir Lancelot ready;
A horse and rider to make people stare.
The joust got under way shortly after mid-day,
The knights on either side of the tilt.
As they began to advance, lowering visor and lance,
There was no time for courage to wilt.
Charging now at full pace, the noise filled the place,
As the crowd began to raise their voices.
Where to aim for the best, at the head or the chest?
The knights had to make their quick choices.
First hit to the Black Knight, he got his choice right,
Striking Lancelot on his polished breast plate.
And with a crashing sound, he hit the hard ground,
Pulled down by his armour’s great weight.
The Black Knight quickly turned, chivalry was now spurned,
And he attacked Lancelot from the rear.
The crowd stopped their cheering, and now started jeering;
John shouted a warning, loud and clear.
At the sound of John’s voice, Lancelot made the right choice,
Swung around with his shield raised up high.
The Black Knight’s sword crashed, Lancelot’s shield was smashed,
It all happened in the blink of an eye.
The Black Knight charged again, another blow tried to rain
Down upon brave Sir Lancelot’s head.
But Lancelot’s blade flashed, the attack had been dashed,
And the Black Knight lost his sword now instead.
Still mounted on horse, the Black Knight changed his course,
And galloped away for to get a new lance.
But squire John, with great speed, caught Sir Lancelot’s steed,
Giving the brave knight just one more chance.
Even with his armour to straddle, he was quick in the saddle,
Reined his horse round to face the Black Knight.
With his sword now held high, he charged with a full battle cry,
It made such a wondrous sight.
The Black Knight stood not a chance, the sword dealt with the lance,
The pole fell to the ground sliced in two.
Grass sods got churned, as brave Lancelot turned,
And with his sword ran the Black Knight clean through.
So much blood now gushed, as the Black Knight’s horse rushed
Towards the stone wall by the side of the Keep.
At the wall the horse stopped and the Black Knight, dead, dropped
To the ground, where he lay in a heap.
The crowd cheered their approval at the Black Knight’s removal;
Sir Lancelot jumped down from his horse.
Climbing on the grandstand, he took Guinevere’s hand,
And so history had taken its course.
