Not one of the throne, but the overthrown!
And when he was shivered to atoms, she'd wait
To pick up his bits to bury in state!
She'd shoot at him till he was quite unnerved,
And then address him on being preserved.
But a King—to say it I do not stickle—
In such a preserve must be always in pickle!
I wouldn't be Louis-Philippe, I say,
If I had a thousand Louis a-day.
To be King in a land of such whimsical slaugh