King January’s his name, they say—
And fell in love with the Princess May,
The reigning belle of Manhattan;
Nor how he began to smirk and sue,
And dress as lovers who come to woo,
Or as Max Maretzek and Jullien do,
When they sit full-bloomed in the ladies’ view,
And flourish the wondrous baton.
He wasn’t one of your Polish nobles,
Whose presence their country somehow troubles,