THE FIVE KNIGHTS By HUGH CHESTERMAN

SIR TUSH: THE INDISCREET KNIGHT

Three gay Crusaders rode to war,

Sir Twist and stout Sir Tarrymore.

Of better men you've never heard.

(Sir Tush of Tooting made the third.)

They sallied forth in brave array—

O passing fierce and fleet were they!

“Our duty's plain,” they said, “we've got

To show the Saracen What's What.”

And when they'd gone, fair ladies sighed

For news of them at every tide,

And naught their tears could stay or stem,

For never more came news of them.

Alack! the first upon my list

To fall in fight was great Sir Twist,

And stout Sir Tarrymore was vexed

(And rightly) when his turn came next.

Sir Tush lived on, till once at Sceeva

He called a Turk an unbeliever.

The Paynim, with a whispered “Hush!”

Decapitated rash Sir Tush.

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SIR BRUIN BYPH: THE FOOLISH KNIGHT

Sir Bruin Byph, a witless peer,

To Palestine went riding,

A foolish knight—you see him here

His mettled steed bestriding.

His squire was a personage

Of very few pretensions;

A pensive, inoffensive page,

A youth of no dimensions.

And when Sir Bruin smiled and smirked

The page would raise no laughter;

And if Sir Bruin quipped and quirked

The page came silent after:

And silent kept till fond Sir Byph

Was slaughtered by a Paynim,

O then he laughed, and laughed, as if

No power could restrain him!

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A Foolish Knight (you see him here).

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SIR BEVILLE BLEYDE: THE AUDACIOUS KNIGHT

Of all the knights of Southern France

Who measured sword or broke a lance

In tilt or tourney,

Count Beville Bleyde would bow to none:

No matter how—he always won.

And he would journey,

On bellicose adventure bent,

To places on the Continent.

He knew the Lowlands, Russia, Spain,

Made war in Flanders, and had slain

A hundred knights of Acquitaine—

And single-handed.

And once he kept, at Tinchebrai,

A Norman regiment at bay:

You could not count his blows, they say,

So fast they landed.

O he was brave; but rumour hints

(And as he has been dead long since

I may be candid)

That there was one whose temper made

The bold Sir Beville sore afraid—

It was his Countess, Madam Bleyde.

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A Norman regiment at bay.

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SIR TIVOLI TRAIL: THE INDOLENT KNIGHT

Slack is the snail and most sluggish the sloth;

As a slow-motion picture the tortoise beats both;

But worse than the tortoise, the sloth, or the snail

Was that indolent warrior, Tivoli Trail.

Late for his breakfast, his tea, and his dinner,

At hustling or bustling—well, any beginner

Would put to the blush this unpunctual sinner.

His sundial was broken, his watch wouldn't go,

The clocks in his castle were half an hour slow:

In battle his slackness in no way diminished;

By the time he arrived the whole business was finished.

And damsels in danger of dragons, who privily

Hoped to be rescued and then treated civilly,

Could never rely on this torpid Sir Tivoli.

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Damsels in danger of Dragons.

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SIR MUNGO MYNGS: THE TIMID KNIGHT

This is the rhyme of Mungo Myngs,

Lean of limb and lily-livered:

Shook and shivered,

Did Mungo Myngs,

At lots and lots and lots of things.

Powder and shot

He minded not,

(At least not much);

But I'll tell you what

He couldn't abide—

The slightest touch

Of sword or lance;

And if perchance

A battle was fought on the Myngs estate

He wouldn't come out and risk his skin,

But, sheltered behind his castle gate,

He'd fire at the foe with a culverin.

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Fire at the foe with a culverin.

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