Gundon was a likely Lord,
As fine as Lords can be,
And none of his bad doings
Came down on his peasentry-
But Gundon was so cautious,
He hads tasters for his tea.
He had tasters for his cookies,
He had tasters for his cream,
He had tasters for his dinner,
And his tasters were a team!
There were three for every daily meal,
Three for every snack,
Three for all the other stuff-
(His tasters got quite fat.)
But all unkown in daily life,
Lord Gundon had a boy,
A trained assassin's boy he was,
He looked a petty toy.
His best skill was with poisons
He knew them, every one
He knew each of their antidotes,
He new what each had done.
Lord Gundon used his poison boy
To kill some rivals off-
He shivered at their passing, though,
And thought he was to soft.
Poor Gundon, he dreaded that boy,
Feared him with all his heart
And Little Master Poison Boy
Had realized this in part.
And so it was, because of this
The boy did ply his trade
Because unkown to Lord Gundon,
This killer was not paid.
The thieving man who paid the staff
Decided for himself
That poison boy was unneeded,
That he was for the shelf.
He never even noticed
That the flavor of his wine
-Even in that robust red-
Was more like turpentine.
By the time that he had reached out
To the bottle to poor more,
His vision clouded over-
He lay dead upon the floor.
And poison boy was always paid,
Always, and on time,
Lord Gundon on that poison boy
He spent a pretty dime.
And I will end my tale right here,
I've nothing more to rhyme,
Except that this all was the start
Of Lord Gundon's decline.
Which is not surprising, no,
Not considering
The slowest poison possible,
That was always in his drink.