| Our monarchs stand in sturdy line,
|
| A chain that history forges
|
| Of Edwards, Richards, Williams,
|
| Of Charleses, Jameses, Georges.
|
| Some were bluff and hearty,
|
| Some periwigged and prim –
|
| And then there’s Cromwell,
|
| But we don’t mention him!
|
| (That warty Lord Protector,
|
| We’d better not mention him)
|
| First of all we had those early kings
|
| With names that no-one can spell:
|
| Cerdic and Ceolwulf,
|
| Egbert and Athelstan,
|
| And Ethelbald as well.
|
| Who they were and what they did
|
| Is veiled in myth –
|
| Aethelred the Unredey
|
| And his mother Aelfthrith.
|
| Their behaviour was brutal,
|
| They were far from being saints.
|
| And with rats and lice and flies
|
| It will come as no surprise
|
| Many suffered from peculiar complaints – but…
|
| Great Alfred was our founder,
|
| With tresses long and flaxen,
|
| Proud and independent,
|
| Indubitably Saxon.
|
| In politics and fighting
|
| He had just what it takes,
|
| While drifting from the kitchen
|
| Came a smell of burning cakes.
|
| He lit the torch of freedom
|
| That none on earth could quench,
|
| Till William (The Bastard)
|
| Tried to make us speak in French:
|
| Those nasty knights from Normandy
|
| Came over babbling French.
|
| England was a fair field,
|
| A fair field full of folk:
|
| Counting the inhabitants
|
| Had got beyond a joke.
|
| There were farms, there were estates,
|
| There were smithies, there were mills,
|
| Swine in the orchards and sheep on the hills.
|
| William counted everything,
|
| From hall to inglenook:
|
| Ev’ry stable, shed or conservatory,
|
| They all went into a book.
|
| So when it came to taxes
|
| No-one was off the hook –
|
| It all went down in the Domesday Book!
|
| William’s son was Rufus, he had
|
| Red hair and a florid face,
|
| But he was not just florid,
|
| He was really rather horrid,
|
| His personal skills a disgrace.
|
| With his friends in the forest he hunted a lot
|
| Till he finally reached his penalty spot,
|
| And on that spot
|
| He was shot.
|
| Henry the First enjoyed his meals,
|
| But expired having eating too many eels.
|
| Henry the Second, he suffered no end
|
| For causing the death of Becket, his friend:
|
| Kneeling in the cathedral crypt
|
| He found it helped to be lightly whipped –
|
| Like a syllabub he was lightly whipped.
|
| King Stephen was almost
|
| Escorted from the premises
|
| By menacing Matilda, his arch-nemesis.
|
| His wife, it’s true, was a Matilda too.
|
| Being spied on either side
|
| By a Matilda meant
|
| Bewilderment!
|
| Richard the First was a warrior bold –
|
| The heart of a lion had he.
|
| A fearless crusader, yet skilled in minstrelsy.
|
| A captive in a foreign land,
|
| His singing set him free.
|
| Far from home, I languish
|
| In misery, and … anguish!
|
| His faithful minstrel heard him,
|
| “I know that voice!” |
| cried he.
|
| He made a dash for a cashpoint,
|
| And Richard soon was free.
|
| But how can we know?
|
| We may never know what really occurred
|
| With Richard the Second and Richard the Third.
|
| You can never be sure.
|
| Richard the Fourth was a cunning hoax:
|
| Perkin Warbeck with one of his jokes!
|
| Some monarchs come in two parts,
|
| Like Shakespeare’s Henry Four,
|
| And some go forth like Hen. |
| the Fifth
|
| En route to Agincourt:
|
| Our King went forth to Normandie
|
| With grace and might of Chivalrie!
|
| A milder mix was Henry Six,
|
| A seeker after knowledge:
|
| He built a certain chapel
|
| At a certain Cambridge College,
|
| Renowned for its musicians among other things:
|
| A famous band of minstrels started life at King’s.
|
| Magna Carta, bad King John,
|
| Edwards One, Two, Three,
|
| Murder, war and pestilence,
|
| Revolting peasantry!
|
| Scheming and ambitious,
|
| Split apart by feud or faction,
|
| But in their hearts they knew their parts:
|
| The warm-up act before the main attraction –
|
| The Tudors!
|
| Pastime with good companie –
|
| Oh how we love that Tudor dynasty!
|
| All their pastimes airing on TV,
|
| Their company is “Tudors PLC”.
|
| There’s love, of course,
|
| And serial divorce,
|
| And tons of jewellery:
|
| They’re now a brand,
|
| Preserved and canned,
|
| So buy the DVD!
|
| Tudors all were really Welsh
|
| With Celtic kith and kin.
|
| Stuarts all were bonny Scots,
|
| With a little bit of French thrown in.
|
| They drove out James the Second,
|
| (No-one liked him much)
|
| And wheeled in William of Orange
|
| Who turned out to be Dutch.
|
| Queen Anne was fond of drinking tea |
| Which quite restored the British monarchy;
|
| But soon we had a shocking new experience:
|
| One hundred years of German Hanoverians!
|
| And here are the results in reverse order:
|
| A man of style was George the Fourth,
|
| But corpulent and lazy.
|
| George the Third said “What, what, what?”
|
| And went a little crazy.
|
| It seems that George the Second
|
| Immortality was seeking;
|
| May the King live for ever
|
| Amen, Allelujah, Amen.
|
| While George the First was “English-averse”
|
| And didn’t even want to BE King!
|
| William the Fourth was a naval man,
|
| With Nelson he worked hard to keep the peace.
|
| He hadn’t much to bring to the job,
|
| But he paved the way for his dutiful young niece.
|
| Victoria had everything:
|
| An army and a navy no foreign foe could crush,
|
| The mightiest of empires, and toilets that could flush.
|
| Postage stamps and railways,
|
| Christmas trees and garden gnomes,
|
| (Alfred, Lord) Tennyson and Dickens and Disraeli,
|
| D’Oyly Carte and Sherlock Holmes.
|
| As soon as his Mother vacated the throne
|
| Edward the Seventh lowered the tone.
|
| George the Fifth shunned glitz and glamour,
|
| But left his son with a bit of a stammer.
|
| Life grew ever darker and austerer
|
| Till the dawning of a new Elizabethan era
|
| So give three hearty cheers
|
| For they have mellowed with the years,
|
| Now they feel our pain and share our woe.
|
| They may be stalked by hacks,
|
| They’d have to pay the tax,
|
| And sit through the Royal Variety Show.
|
| Oh no!
|
| You may not see them on the bus,
|
| But they’re just a bit like us
|
| With their barbecues and TV soaps.
|
| They may no longer have the power
|
| To lock us in the Tower
|
| Or have interminable arguments with Popes.
|
| But…
|
| Our monarchs stand in sturdy line,
|
| A chain that history forges
|
| Of Edwards, Richards, Williams,
|
| Of Charleses, Jameses, Georges.
|
| So after one thousand years
|
| What will the future be?
|
| We couldn’t really comment.
|
| You’ll just have to wait and see! |