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.