And so in ancient tales is told
Of Prince DeVoid and his squire bold,
How in the nation’s darkest hour
Greenwald’s young unsavoury flower
Set forth in the hour of need,
To do or die in a fearsome deed.

For came a scourge upon that land,
Once contained by a prison band
Wrapped around its legs and feet,
And, admittedly a great surfeit,
Of chain and other restraining clobber,
To hold any such nefarious robber.

The Grobble imprisoned deep within
The caves of Troll for his great sin,
Languished for seven times seventy years
Occasioned no soul any remorseful tears,
Except by his unidextral warder
Paid to keep the beast in order.

But as in all things of good intent
Its captors did indeed relent,
And for pity’s sake beat their breast
Where pity n’er perchance to rest,
And to the courts appealed for peace,
Such judgment to release the beast.

‘Four hundred and Ninety summers thus
Have I attended on this trust,
The Turval said, yet ‘tis not enough
To teach this creature all the stuff,
To curb his mighty burning hate
Or change his attitude to fate;

Methinks to let him pass the prison door
Is tantamount to all out war,
That all you clever lawyers playing cupid
Must think I am extremely stupid,
To stand unopposed against this plea
And set the Grobble creature free!’

Quoth he, ‘to let this creature go again
I will fight with all my might and main,
And declare in years I’d rather see
Seventy times seven times sixty three
Before we even think, old mate,
To let him pass the prison gate!’

But his argument was to no avail,
The petitioners set up an awesome wail,
Quoting this law and quoting that
Called he the Turval a dopey prat,
The lawyer spent his courtroom days,
In very argumentative ways.

The end result, when the judge came back,
To give the verdict was the lack,
Of the Turval’s absolutely solid proof
That the Grobble did not tell the truth,
So remorseful as the creature seemed
Therefore, it would henceforth be freed.

Yet although the Turval made protest
The Bleeding Hearts thought it best,
The creature to its noisome nest,
There to take its promised rest,
In pious humility it did confess,
Its gnarly claw clutched to its breast.

Alas the promise was not kept
And oh how loud the people wept
For as the beast gained strength,
It rampaged violently the length,
And ravaged all that lay before it,
And no-one now could so ignore it.

Thus with regret at their largess
The Elders and Burghers did confess,
That to let such a foul fiend go free
Was hardly worth a share of the legal fee,
That was so broadly splashed about
Once the verdict of the court was out.

None in that land deemed it funny,
That sanctimonious lawyers making money
Was worth their land being laid to waste
And their need to leave in haste,
And cursed the legal beagle’s do good ways
Hoping like crazy for better days.

To this intent the Elders did agree
That somebody to the Duke should flee,
And call on that most worthy man
To spoil the Grobble’s intended plan,
And with some skilful, heroic Knight
Relieve them from their present plight.  

It turned out thus the most likely he,
Was the Turval whose most emphatic plea,
Unheeded went by these greedy advocates,
Forced the good creature to open up the gates,
And in his singularly peculiar mode,
To travel with haste on that lopside road.