Uther's Lament
As king of Camelot I must confess
The past twelve months have been a total mess.
My subjects just won't listen when I say
My goal's to ban all magic—please obey!
Be civil to your betters, know your place.
(You haven't any choice, in any case.)
Don't lie, don't steal, don't cheat at cards, don't sin.
And if you know a Druid, turn him in!
And, if you don't work hard and pay your tax,
You'll soon be matey with the headsman's ax.
Yet it appears my plans have gone awry,
Enough to make me wring my hands and sigh.
It seems like every warlock, witch, and thief
Has come to Camelot to give me grief.
They come with snakey shields, and poisoned wine,
Defy my strictest rules, and think it's fine.
They try to kill the prince, my son and heir,
And all because they say I don't play fair.
And even worse (although it may sound droll),
I find that I've been sleeping with a troll!
Now my beloved ward, that lovely girl,
Accuses me of being such a churl.
She won't attend to anything I say.
Why, it's enough to make my hair turn grey.
Her pretty maid (whose daddy is now dead)
Should be obedient, but no, instead
She helps my ward defy me up and down,
And she herself snogs every boy around.
(But if I ever hear she's snogged my son,
She'd best be on her way, she'd better run!)
And now my only son, my pride and joy,
Is all besotted with a servant boy.
He takes him hunting, riding, and it's sad—
He spends more time with him than with his dad.
(But if I ever catch those two in bed,
I swear to God, I'll have that Merlin's head.)