You're not fooling anyone, you know. Look. Isn't there something you can do? Hah! 'Course it's a good idea! Behold! What happens now? You fight with the strength of many men, Sir Knight. It is I, Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, from the castle of Camelot. King of the Britons, defeater of the Saxons, Sovereign of all England! Tis but a scratch! I am Arthur, King of the Britons. Bravest of the brave, Sir Robin.
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The swallow may fly south with the sun or the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land? That's-- that's, uh-- that's enough music for now, lads. He was not in the least bit scared to be mashed into a pulp. You're a looney. Oh, cut your own head off! Burn her! Burn! Burn her! Burn her! Well, don't. It's like those miserable Psalms-- they're so depressing. You've got two empty halves of coconut and you're bangin' 'em together. Then you shall die.
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