An Ode to Sir KurnIf to Trimaris you sojourn,
You'll meet a Knight by name of Kurn:
A doughty man, as you shall learn,
And your respect he'll quickly earn.
His gleaming helm and boots leathern
Provoke his foes to great concern;
No braver Knight can one discern,
From Otterburn to Bannockburn.
A stag's horns, not the beak of tern
Upon his shield is the pattern.
And whether fiery Sun doth burn,
Or night requireth your lantern,
You easily this may secern:
When bloody battlefield doth churn,
He'll deal out death when it's his turn.
If after wisdom you do yearn,
From university lectern
Or hermit's dank and dark cavern,
At fireside or in tavern,
From wise woman or cheap slattern,
Or tomes both ancient and modern,
Take my advice; pray do not spurn:
Seek out Sir Kurn, of visage stern!
Oft garrulous, not taciturn!
This Ode, not to a Grecian Urn,
Is finished, so I now adjourn.