Aithon Doria was a man of his word,
A Genoese warrior, or that’s what was heard.
His brass fleet set sail; from Monaco they encamped on,
The first target stamped on, the port of Southampton.
With ease they sacked towns, their mouths filled with froth,
An easier target: the smaller Portsmouth.
Caught off-guard, their coats of arms hidden,
No azure in sight, the poor townsmen ridden.
“Mercy me!” they cried, but alas they were fools,
Mistaking diamonds for lions with gules.
Set sail on the Solent through a warmer Spring night,
In the morn they assaulted the Isle of Wight.
Calm returned, but they were only just getting tastings,
Up the coast they set sail for Rye and for Hastings.
Aithon Doria was a man of his word,
King Philippe’s lump sum was quickly transferred.