All the birds set up a sympanising tune.
They were only slightly wounded—chiefly suffering from surprise
(It was fortunate the oven had been slow)
And the warmth, though it alarmed them, which it’s useless to disguise,
Made them quickly convalescent from the blow.
Now, shortly after this the mighty monarch of the land
Was ensconced with heaps of bullion untold,
Engaged in what he evidently didn’t understand—
Rhabdologic computation of his gold.
Her Majesty, his spouse, was in her boudoir far away,