TOO YOUNG FOR A CROWN

[Henry 111, son of King John, was crowned in the
Abbey Church at Gloucester, later renamed
Gloucester Cathedral, in 1216. This was to be
the only coronation held outside London.
The young King was nine years old.]

The day that they crowned me here wasn’t much fun,
Though I am the King, when all’s said and done.
But did ever you think of the fate that was mine,
To be crowned as a King when my years were just nine?
Gold robes they put on me, stiff, scratchy and prickly,
And that made my back and my front feel all tickly.
There were old Lords around me, silk robed and so grand,
But I wanted my Mother there, holding my hand.

The Lords said: “Sit here!”, and then: “Stand up there!”
Then they plonked me down hard in a big high gold chair.
I wasn’t to speak until they said I could -
They treated me just like a puppet of wood.
The crown didn’t fit - it fell over my ears,
But I didn’t complain - Princes aren’t allowed tears.
Mother pulled a gold circlet off her own arm,
She said: “Please use this one - this can’t do him harm!”
And I smiled and I smiled, as they said that I must,
Till my face felt as stiff as an overbaked crust.
Then I said, just because they had all told me to:
“I am trusting myself to God and to you!”

The crowd in this Abbey all shouted and waved,
And the Lords told each other: “The Kingdom is saved!”
Me? I was so tired, all I thought of was sleeping,
But too many people watch round me were keeping.
At last I was tucked in the huge great Royal Bed,
And a funny odd dream came into my head:
That I wasn’t a King - I was some other boy,
With a Mother and Father, and me their dear joy.
So don’t envy this boy, changed so young to a King:
A King nine years old is a pitiful thing.
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