In olden days there lived a wife Whose noble husband courted strife He loved her little - just at night - This knightly treatment wasn’t right.
He found her in the woodland wild And took her for a wayward child Making her his own for pity’s sake While long regretting his mistake
Belittling her at every chance Their love was lacking in romance And when they came to Arthur’s court He served her up in rags for sport.
But Queen Guinevere took pity And dressed her in her finery At which the husband fell for her And took his way without deter.
At last grown slothful in his lust He betrayed his knightly trust And the lads of the Round Table Questioned whether he was able
To sally forth on jousts or quests Or polish up his chainmail vests - And what is more said they made good On any wants of knightlyhood.
At which he rode away with umbrage Treating her as wayward baggage Although he took her nonetheless To keep the score on his contests.
He ordered her to ride ahead And keep her tongue inside her head: While he sought out each noble fight She found a camp and cooked at night
With trolls and bandits on the way She saw them first but could not say: Distracting them she made them blink And looking back gave knight-ward wink
But when the champion won the day He sent her forward down the way Driving chargers decked with ***** No words of thanks in line of duty.
Til in the forest depths a maiden cried Beset by fire and to some ******* tied A morsel for a dragon roast or fried The fiery beasties’ shawarma undenied.
Then Enid much beguiled the monstrous worm And calmed its embers with her nubile form - While Geraint freed the nymphet from the stake She shared her story with the horned snake.
At length she found her knight had upped and left Leaving her beset, bamboozled and bereft But then the dragon taken by her grief Gave her the gold that stuck between its teeth.
So, she took the stolen armour that she held And girded up with lance and sword in belt Giving eager chase to nymph and errant knight To teach him his behaviour wasn’t right.
She came upon her hubby in a glen Enticing Elyse to a bowered den He had fancied her since way back when - He cut her bonds but tied them back again.
Then much in wrath our mounted maiden rode Resplendent in her anger, brave and bold And brought to joust Geraint the Oversold But he took flight and fled the combat cold.
And Elyse was overcome with gratitude For this gentlest of stranger’s hastilude That he should save her from calamity And never once assail her chastity.
‘Young Sir, my love is yours as you desire I am a princess and my lands are yours Come live with me and be my noble squire And I will grant you what you may require’.
At which the champion laid her helm aside And tossed the curls she could no longer hide: ‘I am no knight young beauteous maid But just a woman that misfortune made’.
When Elyse saw such woe and courtly care She loved the girl who stood so sadly there: ‘It matters not my lover and my life You are my choice and I your loving wife’.
And then at last they came to rest at Camelot Where Queen Guinevere reserved them a spot At her table (which was like Arts’ non-square), Where all were welcome to partake and share.
And they grew old in honour and renown With songs of courtly love that still resound For they had found their holy loving grail - That gentlest of knights and her beloved girl.
And last was heard of Enid’s ex-Geraint He was the fearsome dragon’s catamite - And labour as he might to stir its blood The slightest recognition was withstood.