Henry the Eighth

Maidens, bloody maidens, I had me six of ‘em wenches, ye knowest Fullsome Catherine of Aragon wrought havoc ‘tween me and the Pope Besought a divorce, split from the church whilst Anne Boleyn caught mine eye 'Twas beheaded whenst in ‘er capacity to produce a male heir I lost hope Mine affection waxed for Jane Seymour; I beseeched ‘er t’ marry me Anne’s body not yet cold in the ground whenst Jane became mine queen But after giving me a son, Jane withered, twas gone in two weeks For ‘er I mourned two years, afore proposing to Anne of Cleves Ye knowest this “Flanders Mare” twas not suited for mine royal court Nay, ‘er domestic skills tweren’t becoming of a stately king’s wife At mine auld age of 49, I grew enamored of young Kathryn Howard She but 19 when I divorced Anne and beseeched ‘er t’ share mine life But Kathryn had eyes for other blokes, made me look like a pompous joke "Thou dost not deserve thine title," I declared, had ‘er executed Twice widowed at the age of 31, Katherine Parr I settled for This wench cared for me as I grew ill, thus is undisputed Prithee t’ see after six attempts, I finally met mine match Katherine inherited mine throne once mine body twas laid t’ rest From heaven I look back fondly at mine spirited days of yore Knowing that in a regal sense mine first wife twas truly mine best * For Lisa Cooper’s “I Want Some Old English Scandal” contest