Shining armour is not the mark
As often thought
Of a respectable, responsible gentleman
But rather
The mark of a man
Who’s never had to tarnish his blade
In defence of his country
Or the honour of his love
In fact
You would be better served
To put your trust in a pyrate
Than such a man
As to call himself a knight
Whilst in shining armour
Always seeming fresh from the forge

A pyrate, always, to be sure,
Will do as he see fit
Lying, cheating, stealing,
And living as he please
But foolish be he
T’would cross blades with one
For a pyrate be a man (or lass!)
Of great strength of conviction
And if’n somethin do be fit
To rouse their care a’tall,
It had better be fit to be dyin for

I’ll take my knight
In tarnished armour
And rest most securely
Knowing that if I should ever need
He will doubtless be here
Twixt any foe I should to meet
And my own little self
Confident as well
That should my honour be called into question,
Whate’er the causation for such slander,
To my aid he wouldst rush
Most valiant
Heedless of possible damage
To limbs or to his armour