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Again, this is NOT my joke . . . just my poem.

The Chastity Belt

King Arthur was off to the Holy Wars,
(It was that time of year).
But his main worry,
Was the chastity,
Of his lovely Guinevere.

So he called in a blacksmith to make her a belt,
That was fitted with a guillotine
And could sever a marriage
With a slash so savage
It compared to a threshing machine.

Arthur alone carried the key
To this terrible invention.
So any advance,
Would be taking a chance . . .
. . . if that was a knight's intention!

Upon his return after three years or more,
Arthur lined up his knights by the moat.
But once they were stripped,
Well, he went all tight-lipped,
And a lump it came up to his throat.

For, as he looked along that line
A sorry sight he saw.
You see, crudely put,
Each had lost a half a foot.
(And some substantially more!)

Sir Allen, Sir Benjamin and Sir Cumsize as well,
Had all fallen victims to that knife.
And though their wounds were mended,
Their love lives surely ended,
The day they'd messed about with Arthur's wife.

Distraught from his findings,
King Arthur continued 'til his eyes lit up in delight.
For Sir Lancelot,
Had not been got.
(At least everything seemed alright).

So the aging monarch embraced his friend
While the rest hung their heads in shame.
Knowing their lust,
Had betrayed a trust . . .
. . . so they'd only themselves to blame.

"Take all that you want," King Arthur said.
"My money, my land or my gold.
"Your loyalty,
"And honesty,
"Is a pleasure for me to behold."

Sir Lancelot looked down at his king,
Smiled and felt tingley all over.
Then raising his head,
Opened his mouth and said,
"Wghghyught whyfgthju ishuuver!"