No. 8: SONG. — REGENT.

MIDI file Karaoke file

A King, though he’s pestered with cares, Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them; But one comes in a shape he can never escape — The implacable National Anthem! Though for quiet and rest he may yearn, It pursues him at every turn — No chance of forsaking Its rococo numbers; They haunt him when waking — They poison his slumbers! Like the Banbury Lady, whom everyone knows, He’s cursed with its music wherever he goes! Though its words but imperfectly rhyme, And the devil himself couldn’t scan then, With composure polite he endures every night That illiterate National Anthem!

It serves a good purpose I own: It strains are devout and impressive — Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats As we burn with devotion expressive: But the King, who’s been bored by that song From his cradle — each day — all day long — Who’s heard it loud-shouted By throats operatic, And loyally spouted By courtiers emphatic — By soldier — by sailor — by drum and by fife — Shall blame if he thinks it the plague of his life! While his subjects sing loudly and long, Their King — who would willingly ban them — Sits, worry disguising, anathematizing That Bogie, the National Anthem!