What is a sport, after all, young squire, if not running at a man on a horse while holding a heavy long stick? You knock him off the horse with the tip of the stick, then stab him.
What is true love young squire if not in the company of a truly stern matchmaker and chaperone? You whisper words of love sweet and tender but no hanky panky permitted.
What is Christmas dinner if not a roast duck inside a roast chicken inside a roast turkey inside a roast pig, with fig and nut stuffing? That is fine dining, young squire!
What is the afterlife young squire but heavenly choirs of angels singing hymns for all eternity, in the clouds?
Yes young squire there will be a pipe organ, and you shall be its grinder.
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