An historical poem, in as much as any story of Edward II having a hot poker shoved up his arse is historical.

 

“Prithee, knave, what scribe you there,

By candlelight and fire?”

 

“Your immortality’s the toil

On which I labour, sire.

For future generations

Your life and legacy

Transcribed upon these parchments

Your obituary.”

 

“And does this legacy describe

Affairs of court and state?

Or  matters more scholastic

By which men deem me great?

Or for the wars I fight against

The heathen that’s the Scot?

Or for my bounty trying to

Improve the peasants’ lot?

Or how the Earls of Lancaster,

Warwick, Arundel,

Were made to kneel before my throne;

Will your story tell?

Or of Gaveston, oh Gaveston,

My love, my heart, my light?

The times we shared together.”

 

“Your Majesty, not quite”.

The strapline really caters for

A readership more dumb

‘King ‘orribly gets put to death-

Hot poker up his bum’”.