Lord Círdan and King Gil-galad
Were sailing on the sea.
Lord Círdan held a fishing rod,
The King a cup of tea.
The day was proving hot and slow
And Gil-galad was bored.
And Círdan's droning fishing ode
Soon made him quite annoyed.
"You fishhead!" he cried suddenly.
"We've sat out here all day,
And all you have to show for lunch
Is one lousy osprey."
The shipwright cast the bird of prey
A very sorry look.
He'd killed it accidentally
Whilst casting out a hook.
"My friend," said Gil-galad. "You are
Far too fond of the sea.
No wonder you are skin and bones
For weeks you've drunk just tea.
"No wonder you see naught of love;
You have no sex appeal.
And when you do walk on the shore.
It's just to chase a seal."
"I do know love," Lord Círdan said,
And looking quite upset.
"My love is just different from yours.
And many times more wet."
"More wet?" the King said, eyebrows raised.
"I don't know what you mean.
But from the red look on your face
I gather it's not clean."
"I don't mean that!" Lord Círdan cried.
He was now quite undone.
"I meant to say, 'I have a love
And they're my moon and sun'."
"You have a love?" the King echoed.
A frown upon his face.
"But Círdan dear, you're always here
Miles from the female race."
"From elves perhaps," Lord Círdan said,
"But not from whalish pearls.
Look overboard my friend and see
Lord Ulmo's servant girls."
The King did so and gasped and swore
On seeing down below
A swarm of smiling, gorgeous maids
Following in a row.
"As you can see," Lord Círdan said,
"They have no legs or feet.
Instead they have long furry tails
And swim all in a fleet.
"Behold around them schools of fish.
They're fishing just like me.
With bubbles herd the fish quite close
Then pick them off for tea."
"They seem successful in their work,"
Observed the King. "And why!
There're plenty fish for all of us
So why're we high and dry?"
"Unfortunately," Círdan said,
"They're keeping all the catch.
See how they pick the fish away
From our hook when they latch."
"And why do not you do something
About them?" asked the King.
Lord Círdan sighed. "I have no heart
To do that sort of thing.
"I said before I love a girl
Who swims amongst this sort.
She loves me too, but not so much
To halt her cousins' sport."
"That's ludicrous," Gil-galad cried.
"Why that's not love at all.
She's starving you to death for fun.
True love has no such gall."
"You think?" sniffed Círdan anxiously.
"It's true: I ache to munch.
My stomach growls so much these days:
There's never any lunch."
"Show me this selfish wench of yours,"
Said Gil-galad. "I'll hear
What this lass really thinks of you
With my court-sharped old ears."
Lord Círdan went agreeably
To fetch some hithlain string.
He tossed the end over the side,
Then proceeded to sing:
"Oh pretty girl, seal-girl of mine,
The girl I do adore.
Do please come up and meet my friend:
An elven King of lore."
"And what do I get in return
For stranding on your ship?"
A voice sung back from underneath
The peeling ship's white tip.
Lord Círdan looked at Gil-galad
Apologetically.
"She wants a bribe, but all I have
Are barrels of stale tea."
"That can't be true," the King replied.
"What of your gold, your pearls?
Your mithril rings, your rubies bright?
You gave all to those girls?"
Lord Círdan now began to cry.
"I see my folly now:
I flung away all of my wealth
Upon a heartless cow."
"Sea-cow indeed," Gil-galad said.
"She's tricked my fishing friend.
He slipped off his glittering crown.
Then called, "Come up you fiend.
"I'll give you Lindon: all of it.
Just come up for a chat."
And within moments, the sea-girl
Was up for her new hat.
Lord Círdan wept. "My friend, you fool.
You're turning into me.
Oh please don't repeat my mistake
And gamble with the sea."
"I've listened well, Lord Círdan dear,"
The King replied. "Don't fear,
For all is under my control:
No need to shed a tear."
On saying this he seized his sword
And carved the wench right up.
He then turned to his staring friend
And gaily said, "Let's sup."