King Majestin felt quite sad and old,
His affections were perverted ;
And so his daughter into gold
He speedily converted.
All night long he’d utter groans
Of deepest melancholy,
Kept awake by painful bones ;
Next day he’d be quite jolly.
His royal blood rushed to his head,
Disturbed was his abdomen ;
He often wished that he was dead,
This King of evil omen.