She looks like one.
Well, I got better. Bloody Peasant! We want a shrubbery!! Well, Mercia's a temperate zone!
I am your king. And the hat. She's a witch! We shall say 'Ni' again to you, if you do not appease us. Now, look here, my good man. Listen. Strange women lying in ponds distributing swords is no basis for a system of government. Supreme executive power derives from a mandate from the masses, not from some farcical aquatic ceremony.
Well, what do you want?
I dunno. Must be a king. Did you dress her up like this? 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.
- Burn her!
- What a strange person.
- Well, I didn't vote for you.
We shall say 'Ni' again to you, if you do not appease us.
The swallow may fly south with the sun, and the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land. Well, I didn't vote for you. Shut up! Oh, ow!
- The swallow may fly south with the sun, and the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land.
- But you are dressed as one…
- We want a shrubbery!!
Oh, ow! And this isn't my nose. This is a false one. Well, how'd you become king, then? What do you mean? The swallow may fly south with the sun, and the house martin or the plover may seek warmer climes in winter, yet these are not strangers to our land.
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