In which The King passes judgement on The Prince, his son, setting the course of his life to follow, and ending our tale.

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“My child,” The King responded firm, “of late
I’ve heard you roam the grounds with gentle gait
Whistling for nymphs and singing songs of love
To flowers low and trees that loom above,
Speaking with painters, getting drunk on wine,
Yet never contemplating the divine
Purpose of we who wear this heavy crown
Which works to pull such lofty spirits down.
And now you try through love to muse inspire
Thinking a high escape you may conspire
To any clouded place of your design,
Sensing we seek through duty to confine
Your aching spirit to this barren court
And any joyous avenues thus thwart.
Alas, this much is true for duty binds
Together our proud kingdom, lest those minds,
Fantastical, hold not our borders firm
And leave our consulship to the infirm
Dooming our fields to rot and tithes to lie
Without collection. Such you may rely
Would be the fate of all you may inherit
When pass I from this realm in death’s black habit.
A kingdom rich in poverty awaits you
Where subjects that will worship you are few,
Should you trust this ‘muse’ to bear you on
With honeyed words and art’s majestic con.
For majesty is bought with golden coin,
And as this low-born wench you wish to join
In matrimony has no coin to offer,
No grand alliance for our state and coffer,
Fall would our kingdom into disrepute
All for the wish for love and verses cute.
You know I keep The Poet out of sight
And keep this Cup-Bearer close to my right,
Supplying my drink to ease my worried brow;
Such must you do when tak’ng your kingly vow.
I know I angered when the wine you stole
But only as you no play no regal role,
But now I think its time for you to swear
Away artistic visions and this fair...
Distraction, an' of this royal drink take sip.”
The Cup-Bearer stepped forth with curling lip
Holding out t’th’Prince the royal chalice.
I wait’d with bated breath by my accomplice,
Both unwanted, knowing what stood at stake,
Praying The Prince not make this grave mistake,
Surrender’ng all he dreamed for duty’s sake
Leaving me wallowing for another age,
Committing museless verses to the page,
And sending The Fool, from time to time, off stage,
Thus leaving but The Steward to advise
And sycophants to make him feel wise.
Alas, dear reader, may you recall the part
Within this tale very near the start
Where miserable this prince sat on the throne
Feeling ashamed with many sins t’ atone.
Thus is the hand inevitable that takes
The chalice, though in reaching does it shake;
His conscience having changed with a’father’s word,
Judging his dreams a dream and love absurd.
Indeed he took the chalice sipped and lost
His soul, not knowing then the heavy cost.
The Maid was taken, sobbing, from the court
Her fate unknown to me, though clues I sought,
Her trail ending with concealment;
Eager to hide The King’s embarrassment
The Steward had enacted this obscuring
And left in dark those hearts still built for caring.
As for my fate, I dormant lay ‘til now
When, years having past, I’m called to bow
Before The Prince, now King, and serve his whim
In writing this long diatribe for him:
A cautionary tale for the young
To never let another sing your song,
Or choose who plays the fife and who the drum
When knowing who is best to match the hum
That resonates uniquely in your heart.
Yet now that, overdue, I’ve played my part,
And, finally, my voice in court is heard,
My king may start to heal by my word,
And let the muse he sought so long be found,
Even too late, for always was she bound
To nestle in a heart once cupid’s fool
And teach: through love’s the only way to rule.