Chorus: Pray pardon, gentle reader, for what lies beneath these words
It bears no examination. In truth, it is absurd.
Each episode was watched in stubborn, willful bliss
For just one simple purpose, which was to take the piss.
But now I fear – alas! – our chronicler’s insane
For rhyming couplets freely fall from her poor fevered brain.
She begs your kind indulgence for this travesty
And pleads for your forgiveness for her lack of gravity.
If not for this small service, the blogging to be done,
She’d not have watched the bloody thing past episode one.
King Richard: I shall recite your name, and after that your title
That the audience keeps up with us is rather more than vital.
Anne: And I’ll sit here, upon my throne, and look down my nose.
See my shiny crown! Admire my queenly pose!
Elizabeth: Those blasted bells across the way make such an awful noice!
But I believe England shall rise in the name of Edward’s boice!
Lizzie: I’m standing here, in sanctuary’s gloom
Pronouncing, pouting, words of doom.
Stanley: With Buk and Thomas Grey we’ll go within the hour
And rescue both the Princes from their prison in the Tower.
Margaret: Just hold a moment, think awhile on that great revolution
While I concoct in my dark mind a more elegant solution.
Anne: And for my part, I’ll drop a hint into Sir Robert’s head.
Brackenbury: What say your Grace? You think the Princes might be better dead?
Elizabeth: King Richard wants to cut a deal.
Morton: Buk has a better one, I feel.
Stanley: I’ll to the Tower at once, my dear, and kill the little king.
Margaret: It is the will of God, I fear, that we do this bad thing.
And by that simple act, my son’s claim is cemented.
Now I’ll just wait here till it’s done, looking quite demented.
Thomas Grey: We creep along the Tower walls; we’re up to no darned good.
I think I must have strayed into a scene from Robin Hood!
I must tell Mum that our plan’s derailed.
Lizzie: You might ask Margaret Beaufort why it failed.
Margaret: Stop messing with me, God, and please give me a sign!
I’ll meet my husband in the wood and have a little whine
Then I’ll talk to Buckingham although he’s slightly thick.
As noble as he is – on the uptake, none too quick.
Buckingham: But your son will then be king. You know it should be me!
Margaret: Well, let’s just get it done, and then we’ll wait and see.
Lizzie: I petulantly explain it all to Mum
I’m sick of sanctuary! It’s so humdrum!
As a teenager, I think you’ll find it is my job to moan,
To sulk and sigh and lie abed, to roll my eyes and groan.
Elizabeth: You do that, dear. I’ll wander round and sadly reminisce
About my sweet dead husband who I so loved to kiss.
I’ll wander round like this, I fear, for days and days and days,
And lean against this handy wall, inhabiting a haze.
Margaret: This letter’s just a narrative device
Weeks of action montaged in a trice.
Stanley: News from my wife, your Grace, unless I’ve misconstrued her.
She says that Princess Lizzie is to marry Henry Tudor.
King Richard: I must repeat again how very much I need
The loyalty of Stanley, so his eventual deed
Of treachery and treason is most clearly foreseen
By everyone but me, until the final scene.
Anne: You might trust him but you’ll see
He cannot hide from me duplicity.
I know what’s going to happen, good and bad and worse.
Remember how I recognised that awful nasty curse
The witchy Wydeville Queen put upon your arm?
Lock Lady Margaret up so she cannot do you harm!
King Richard: Buckingham spread a rumour foul about the Princes’ fate!
Anne: Oh, prick me not, foul conscience! It is far, far too late!
Morton: Your sons are dead, hey nonny no!
By your shocked face, you didn’t know!
Elizabeth: I shall look stunned and whisper underneath my breath
And demonstrate denial of my sweet baby’s death.
For, as you may not know, one has escaped to Flanders.
Morton: King Richard did this, have no doubt! I go to spread the slanders.
Elizabeth: Morton, while you were talking, I figured it all out.
It makes so little sense and now I start to doubt.
Which explains my willingness to leave
And to usurping Richard cleave.
Because, of course, the freedom and the future of my daughters
Is not enough on it’s own to set aside these slaughters.
And now, so suddenly, this moment, I have at last caught on
To the idea that, perhaps, I can’t quite trust this Morton.
He knows too many details, of pillows that did smother
My most precious jewel and the one who stood in for his brother.
Lizzie: Henry Tudor is held back from the sea.
Mum! That must be down to you and me!
I get it now, I understand, I see how this thing goes.
We don’t cast spells, no, not at all, unless history knows
The outcome of events, whether they be good or tragic
Oh, Mother, dear. Come here! Come here! I think it’s time for magic.
Elizabeth: We’ll send a storm! Been done, I know.
We’re good at rain, but not at snow.
Yes, I have turned a battle but just in case your doubtin
I had a hand in Barnet but cast no spells at Towton.
Henry Tudor: I want to sail to England but there’s this bloody storm!
I’m going back inside the house where it’s nice and safe and warm.
King Richard: Dear Anne, I’m getting soaking wet out here in the open.
My men are cold and weary, I fear they’re just not copin.
Buckingham: Dear Margaret, all is lost, that much is clear.
King Richard: I’m in the Tower. My nephews are not here!
Margaret: I’ll burn all of these letters, now our chance is lost
Our plans lie in tatters and the Channel’s not been crossed.
Anne: Richard, please, burn the witch! Then do come home and rest.
King Richard: I’m sorry, darling Anne, but I think I am obsessed.
Buckingham’s the murderer, I’m sure. It has to be!
Yet before his bloody death, him I’ll refuse to see.
You’d think that a way out of this mess,
See Buk before he dies, make him confess.
Anne: O guilt! O guilt! Be still, I pray. Show not upon my face.
King Richard: And even though history knows we weren’t in the same place
I’ll witness the head of Buckingham rolling on the ground.
And the one who killed the Princes never will be found.
You know, that’s really lame, it makes not a lick of sense.
But I suppose it could explain the total lack of evidence.
Stanley: You’re a traitor, Mags, you’ll burn for treason.
Margaret: Does my face show I’ve lost all reason?
I’ll run away! I’ll go to France, escape this almighty cock up.
Stanley: I’m sorry dear, you won’t do that, you’ll be in the lock up.
King Richard: It’s all gone wrong, I don’t know why. I’ve stuffed it up completely.
Elizabeth: What makes you think I’ll shake your hand and smile at you so sweetly?
King Richard: An argument will rage, five hundred years from now.
‘He didn’t show their bodies. And that’s precisely how
We know he didn’t kill them.’ I’m quite convinced.
It’s not my fault at all the Tower was deprinced.
Lizzie: He’s drawn his sword! A metaphor! My heart beats in a rush.
I think I’ve fallen suddenly into an awesome crush!
Oh, I know it’s stupid. Of all the men to pick on
I’ve fallen for the wrongest one, my married Uncle Dickon!
Elizabeth: We’ll curse whoever killed my son, me and little Lizzie.
Lizzie: My God! I swoon! Those big brown eyes of his have made me dizzy.
But yes, they’ll have no sons, these evil men.
King Richard: And gazing at you, I’ll foreshadow once again.
Lizzie: Oh, Mummy! You know how much I do love a cursing!
Even though I know it is my own doom I am nursing.
See, the murderer is none but my future husband’s mother
And thus I doom the eighth Henry’s darling older brother.
Who’ll be my firstborn son, one day in time to come
And from this very curse of ours – alas! – he shall succumb.
King Richard: The witches cursed whoever killed the kid.
Anne: Then I am cursed, for I believe I did.
King Richard: I’ll send the Queen to Grafton, so very far away
But Princess Lizzie I’ll keep close so I might have my way.
Lizzie: The Tudor match is off which makes me dance with joy.
Elizabeth: How else will you be Queen? He’s the only likely boy.
Lizzie: I’ll play at cards and cause my pulse to quicken
When I think of ruling beside my Uncle Dickon.
Chorus: And so Buckingham rebelled and lost his pretty head.
The Princes in the Tower are most wretchedly dead.
Oh, except the little one who even now is lurkin
Somewhere on the Continent, waiting to be Perkin.