The Working Monarch.

Rising early in the morning,     We proceed to light our fire;     Then our Majesty adorning     In its work-a-day attire,     We embark without delay     On the duties of the day.     First, we polish off some batches     Of political dispatches,     And foreign politicians circumvent;     Then, if business isn't heavy,     We may hold a Royal levee,     Or ratify some acts of Parliament;     Then we probably review the household troops     With the usual "Shalloo humps!" and "Shalloo hoops!"     Or receive with ceremonial and state     An interesting Eastern Potentate,     After that we generally     Go and dress our private valet     (It's rather a nervous duty he's a touchy little man)     Write some letters literary     For our private secretary     He is shaky in his spelling, so we help him if we can.     Then, in view of cravings inner,     We go down and order dinner;     Or we polish the Regalia and the Coronation Plate     Spend an hour in titivating     All our Gentlemen-in-Waiting;     Or we run on little errands for the Ministers of State.     Oh, philosophers may sing     Of the troubles of a King;     Yet the duties are delightful, and the privileges great;     But the privilege and pleasure     That we treasure beyond measure     Is to run on little errands for the Ministers of State!     After luncheon (making merry     On a bun and glass of sherry),     If we've nothing particular to do,     We may make a Proclamation,     Or receive a Deputation     Then we possibly create a Peer or two.     Then we help a fellow creature on his path     With the Garter or the Thistle or the Bath:     Or we dress and toddle off in semi-State     To a festival, a function, or a fete.     Then we go and stand as sentry     At the Palace (private entry),     Marching hither, marching thither, up and down and to and fro,     While the warrior on duty     Goes in search of beer and beauty     (And it generally happens that he hasn't far to go).     He relieves us, if he's able,     Just in time to lay the table,     Then we dine and serve the coffee; and at half-past twelve or one,     With a pleasure that's emphatic,     We retire to our attic     With the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done.     Oh, philosophers may sing     Of the troubles of a King,     But of pleasures there are many and of troubles there are none;     And the culminating pleasure     That we treasure beyond measure     Is the gratifying feeling that our duty has been done!