Classic Poem

KING A RTHUR was a steady king,
Who loathed light talk or skittish,
Respectable as anything,
Strong 'eaded, blond and British.

His Queen beside him on the throne,
So golding 'aired and tidy,
Would tip the beam at fourteen stone,
And every ounce a lydy.

Sir Lancelot was 'andsome, quite,
The women all adored him —
He tried to bear it like a knight,
But being worshipped bored him.

His big, bright shield was curved and bent
And more tub-shaped than normal;
He'd frequent halt a tournament
And bathe, all stern and formal.

The knights, they might 'ave bashed 'im then
While 'e was coldly scrubbing,
But they were British gentlemen
Respectful of his tubbing.

'E loved 'is Queen, and she confessed
'Is love reciprocated;
It grieved 'em both ... they did their best
But could not feel elated.

" My word, " Sir Lancelot would sigh,
" What rotten form to love 'er! "
And then 'e'd gloom and say good-by ...
Return ... and gloom ... and hover.

The Queen would call 'erself a fraud —
She hated loving, madly! —
" It's using Harthur bad ... Oh, Gawd! "
The Queen would mutter sadly.

" To think, " says he, " I'd act the same
As any foreign bounder! "
And moaning with a sense of shame
He'd put his arm around 'er.

She'd kiss him, while repentant tears
Fell salt on his proboscis ...
For seventeen long mournful years
They nobly bore their crosses ...

'E moralized, grew thin, austere,
And groaned, awake or sleeping;
But she grew bloated, Guinevere,
With self-reproach and weeping.

When Honest Arthur learned the fac's
It shocked him so completely
The court opined they'd get the axe ...
Instead, he took it sweetly ...

King Arthur says, " Me for the tomb,
Where no disgrace can grab us! "
The Queen crept sobbing from the room
And went and was an Abbuss.

And Lancelot, he moaned and said,
" I 'ope no one will guy 'er!
For me, I'll shave my blooming 'ead
And go and be a friar. "

The moral is: Observe your bent,
Your own traits mark and measure —
If one has not the temperament
Philandering isn't pleasure.