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Greetings Gudo, and a warm salute,
from a harried object of pursuit.
Yon blackguards four do mean me ill,
so draw thy sword, I'll ink my quill.
And put on parchment deeds of glory,
gougings, stabbings fit for story.
Lop you off a head or two,
my audience so to cheer anew.
Soon four of you, my would-be woes,
will be but meat for carrion crows.
When mailèd fist meets beetled brow
you'll buy the farm and have a cow.
Hurry then, my knightly friend,
and start a blackguard-beating trend.
See their eyes so bright with fear,
their grins that know their ends be near!
Lunge you right, that scoundrel ninny
doth creep 'pon you like tortellini
down the throat of a tall giraffe.
Strike quick, old bean, cleave him in half!
Bad show, Gudo, much much too slow!
I've seen a mudwyrm faster go.
My faith doth wane, and says my pen -
thy sword Swiftbird be dubbed Slow-Hen.
I still see standing four of the curs.
Be you fighting or conducting tours
of a boulder's most concealing side
or of that tree behind which you hide.
Charge ahead and lay them straight!
While I with words their kin berate.
Aye, you swamp-sired sons of toads
hear my charming barbèd odes
To your dames so fat and foul
They are why Death wears a cowl,
and though your fathers sinless be
they were apes hanging from a tree.
Say I Gudo, and Gudo again,
a fighting posture you should maintain!
See you how that outraged rogue
With a rusty mace made in Vologue
Has now your head so sorely clipped
that from your horse you now have slipped,
and soon upon the ground so hard
you'll lie as still as a lump of lard...
And such was the martial aid proferred to Sir Bastien Gudo by his loyal friend that the Battle of Runiben's Stop is also recorded, albeit in a plainer fashion, in the diary of one of the participating guards, a certain Nobbin, as The Easy Capture of Our Clumsy Prey At Runiben's Stop.
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