Ive tried ‘ard to forgot
the spot that was a blot
and Merlin, may he rot
Not far from Camel-not.

“Your Highness, shall we begin the battle at 10?”
“No, better that we begin at 9.”
“And after the battle, Sire, shall I order Chinese takeout?”
“No, methinks I favor Italian today.”
“Very well, Sire. (towards stage left) Steward! Spaghetti for the King this night. Do you hear me? In the name of England, PASTA!”
“Very good, my friend, very good. For if a King calls for pasta, and none be brought, what sort of king must he then, in truth, be?”

And Lancelot, the blighter,
‘though hired as a fighter,
Spread his arms a little weiter
to hold Guin’vere e’en tighter.

Fair Guin’vere, the good,
did naught of what she should,
while Lance’ and Arthur stood,
she fooled around wi’ Robin Hood.

Sir Gawaine ga-went ga-riding
for a Grail that was ga-hiding.
And while he was ga-biding,
he sold ga-‘luminum ga-siding.

And then there was Sir Percival,
they say that he was mercival.
In battle he was fercival,
but when bested, he would cursival.

Herman and his Hermits
sang aft of the renown
of Camel-not’s knights —

Sir Lycan, Sir Cyborg,
Sir Dali and Sir Warhol
(court recorders in the absence of a reliably recognizable alphabet)

Sir YesSir and Sir NoSir,
Sir Sibling and Sir Quibbling (“The Quibbling Siblings”),
Sir Queso of Loxley on his fam’d horse, Bagel,
Sir Lawrence of Arabia,
and good Sir Fedex

Sir Paul of McCartney
and Sir Elton of John —
or was it Sir John of Elton?
The scribes scribbled
while the Sirs
“Scrabbled” scrupulously.

And then there were
Sir Aggravate, Sir Lunatic,
Sir Macktheknife and his brother, Sir Jaggermick,
Sir Soeur Sourire,
Sir Tuxedo the Iranian,
Sir Wissenschaft the Berber
(actually the barber, but he felt that “the Berber” sounded better to damsels),
Sir Snoralot from the Bronx
(who did swear most solemnly
to use the French-sounding “Snor-a-loh du Bronx,”
insisting, “That’s how they say it in Manhattan”)

Aye, the Golden Age of 3-syllable names it was.

’round the Table round
these noble brothers argued
’bout what would make life better for all the kingdom,
long after everyone else in the kingdom had gone to bed:

“Hi Fi!”
“Nay, Stereo!”
“Oh, fie on Stereo.”
“Nay, fie on Hi Fi!”
“Nay ‘fie on Hi Fi!’ High Five on Hi Fi and egad on Stereo!”
“I’ll see your egad and raise you a forsoothe.”

While under his breath,
dark young Mordred sneered,

Holmes and Watson had their place,
Cromwell ‘casion’ly showed his face,
and Henry VIII (now, there’s a case)
gave nightly talks on marital grace.

Some left the Table
as soon as they were able:

Beowulf the Brit
got hisself in a snit:
Try as he wou’, he
cou’ na’ ken
the accents of King Arthur’s men

“Where the ‘ell’d they leer’n to spake Anglish,” he cried,
” ‘n’ when?”

and Hroðgar the Dane
fro’ danish pastry
cou’ na’ abstain;
an english muffin
cou’ na stuff ‘im.

A merry time it was,
and gas was cheaper, too.

I’ve tried ‘ard to forgot
the spot that was a blot
and Merlin, may he rot
Not far from Camel-not.