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.