Now here we write the epic tale of Sean,
And of his words which caused him to be dead.
Who from his story we have much to glean,
So even us, in death, can learn to lead.
O Sean he carried ’round a gleaming sword,
Ne’er stained nor marred with dribbles of his blood.
As fitting men of honour and their word,
He bore the weapon in a sheath of wood.
Sean wanted to be King as was his wont.
He’d woo the Princess—knew he was a treat.
He gave a rose with diamond on the front,
Then planned to say, as King, he would be great.
He washed and shaved and trimmed his manly beard,
then sat to pen his speech which would be heard.
His armor, gleaming, whiter than the snow,
His garments, beaming, bright as like a dove,
His arm could settle quarrels here and now,
About his form was nothing to improve.
But when she looked under his shapely nose,
And heard the words that came from his own mouth,
The Princess, all attraction she did lose.
His speech was at the least—let’s say—uncouth.
His words, while sounding lovely in his head,
Were strange and twisted when they reached the ear.
To horror and confusion they did lead,
His speech could have been written by a bear.
He raged and said that she would have to choose.
To find another like him would be work.
“Unlike you, I could hear then like a goose,”
She said, then down his throat she shoved a cork.