A knight came riding, riding o’er the plain,
His face was stern, his eyes a blazing black.
His Lady had been kidnapped for false gain
And he some twenty villains would attack.
Into their camp he rode, and laughed with cheer,
Pretending he was outlaw named Sir Jeer,
And drank their wine, then faked a murd’rous slight
By one he bellowed, “You’re not fit to fight!”
That one he slew, and all thought it fair play,
Though many more ‘gan fall that same sly way.
Now were but ten, and they, at last, saw true
What his intent was aiming now to do.
Around him in a circle, there they stand,
Their swords out-drawn, awaiting one’s command
To rush and slay and slice his limbs apart,
And yet they feared, while waiting death to start.

His Lady, who, in seeing him, felt cheer,
Now for his plight could only gasp with fear.
But he, in thought, was circling round a pot
Of boiling water and, grabbing smaller pot,
Did fill, throw in their faces, fill and throw,
And sent them howling backward in their woe!
Right then to his fair Lady fast he sprang,
Cut off the ropes that held her, turned again,
And with his speedy sword slashed foolish men
While through his frame the joy of being sang!
Away they fly! The bums in disarray!
They’ll not be catching Brian Bold today!
Their horses he has scattered o’er the plain,
And they, the foul, with their just loss remain!
Now Brian Bold, his Lady, climb a height
To kiss upon the sky love’s lasting might.