A monarch is pestered with cares, <br />Though, no doubt, he can often trepan them; <br />But one comes in a shape he can never escape - <br />The implacable National Anthem! <br />Though for quiet and rest he may yearn, <br />It pursues him at every turn - <br />No chance of forsaking <br />Its ROCOCO numbers; <br />They haunt him when waking - <br />They poison his slumbers - <br />Like the Banbury Lady, whom every one knows, <br />He's cursed with its music wherever he goes! <br />Though its words but imperfectly rhyme, <br />And the devil himself couldn't scan them; <br />With composure polite he endures day and night <br />That illiterate National Anthem! <br /> <br />It serves a good purpose, I own: <br />Its strains are devout and impressive - <br />Its heart-stirring notes raise a lump in our throats <br />As we burn with devotion excessive: <br />But the King, who's been bored by that song <br />From his cradle - each day - all day long - <br />Who's heard it loud-shouted <br />By throats operatic, <br />And loyally spouted <br />By courtiers emphatic - <br />By soldier - by sailor - by drum and by fife - <br />Small blame if he thinks it the plague of his life! <br />While his subjects sing loudly and long, <br />Their King - who would willingly ban them - <br />Sits, worry disguising, anathematising <br />That Bogie, the National Anthem!<br /><br />WS Gilbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-national-anthem-2/
