On second thoughts, let’s not go there. It is a silly place. Burn her anyway! Shh! Knights, I bid you welcome to your new home. Let us ride to Camelot! We found them. The Lady of the Lake, her arm clad in the purest shimmering samite, held aloft Excalibur from the bosom of the water, signifying by divine providence that I, Arthur, was to carry Excalibur. That is why I am your king.
Well, Mercia’s a temperate zone! Ni! Ni! Ni! Ni! Well, how’d you become king, then? Burn her!, we did do the nose.
