Of tournamental glory, you'll find it's now the thing,
To gild, with knightly glamour, your daring feat of strife,
And he who kills the other, I'll be his wedded wife;
Till then I'm Queen of beauty," so spake that lady fair,
"I give you both a fortnight, that each may well prepare,
And then I'll send you chargers, on which to combat so"
(Her father dealt in horses), "now, sirs, good-night, and go."
The fix was fraught with danger, for each of those two men,
Existence is too precious, man can't be born again;
They ne'er had used a weapon, they never strode a horse,