The vicious thin wasted daubers quake
When I come home, their lives to take.
They shall not build their houses of mud,
For in the dusk, they shall be made ungood.
With a mighty slipper wielded in my hand,
I make them one with the window, just as planned.
And with the grace of paper thin,
I dispose of the carcas with the lightest of whim.
No fierce beasts shall try to rule
My pleasant, peaceful domicile.
And never shall they live to plague
A day past today. An end they beg.
I free the damsel who is in distress,
And she thanks me in her glittering dress.
Never again shall a beast make light
Of the castle kept by a wasp-slaying knight.
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