AN ALPHABET OF HISTORY

Yvetot

by Wilbur D. Nesbit
Copyright, 1905

  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.

iron noder