YVETOT

There was a king of Yvetot,

And easy was his head,

Serene his rest — naught would suggest

The words so often said,

That crowned heads are not peaceful;

He never wore a frown —

He laughed away the night and day.

With gayly tilted crown.

The jester of his palace

Was never forced to work,

He never had to make things glad

With oily smile and smirk.

This jolly king of Yvetot

Had no need of his fool —

He made his own jests from the throne

And pleasure was his rule.

He never had a quarrel

With any other king;

“Why should we fight?” he asked. “Delight

Is such an easy thing.”

He told no one his troubles —

In truth, he reigned so well

No one could know, in fair Yvetot,

Of troubles fit to tell.

The little realm of Yvetot —

A wee spot on the map —

Has made a name secure in fame

Because of this rare chap

Who put his crown on sidewise

And lolled upon his throne

With scepter set so that it met

His active funny bone.

He was to war a stranger;

His kingdom had no debt;

Each of his laws possessed a clause

That barred out care and fret —

‘ Tis told that when expiring

He wasted his last breath

In one long laugh in life's behalf,

And thus went to his death.

There was a king of Yvetot —

There are such kings today;

They never sigh for things gone by

But laugh along the way.

So, crown yourself with laughter,

Put pleasure on the throne,

And you'll possess in happiness

An Yvetot of your own.