A Ribald Tale of Recompense
My loyalty's supreme though shame enshrouds.
Sly stares and titters follow me, such glee
My wife's at play while I drift in the clouds
She trysts Sir Bart (the jester's clearly me)
A joust I've called though skilled is he who tasks
My lance lies limp, I'll fall, it matters not
For I'm the fool to anyone who asks
My faithless wife betrays, such is my lot
But mounted high on steed I'm honor bound
With thunder riding forth, I take my aim
I miss, his spike it strikes, my heart is found
He wins the prize; in death I keep my name
I smile; my final sight brings some small cheer
for Stump, the stable boy, doth cup her rear!
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