Heard ye yet, gentlemen, that the king is fallen?
Off his horse, sirs, breeches caught in the cantle,
Ribs by the horn, broken and swollen,
It's no accident he'd fall off the saddle,
His nakedness exposed before children,
Someone must hang, then, gentlemen!
Death to the saddlemaker!
Death to the king's farrier!
Death to the horse breeder!
Death to the horse groomer!
Someone must hang, for a king errs not on his own,
Blame to the king's hand! He must've been in on it,
He must reap where it has been sown,
And the saddlemaker for the faulty seat,
The breeder and groomer for the horse too,
And the farrier for the faulty horseshoe.
Could've impressed our masters,
If it were not for the saboteurs,
We must blame his advisors!
For a king makes no blunders.
Not on his own.