The Battle of St. Albans rages on! Alas, poor Sir Samuel is slain shortly after the lance charge...
A grieving Sir Tremayne fails at composing a spontaneous battlefield poem:
There was a knight named Sir Samuel:
He died! He died!
Earl Roderick said he was sleeping:
He lied! He lied!
Why oh why is my friend dead?
Couldn't that Saxon have hit me instead?
Will the remaining knights survive the last three rounds?
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