The Red Petticoat Poem by David Lewis Paget

You were no beauty, Anne Boleyn,
Your skin too dark, not fair,
Your eyes were brown, tho' almost black,
And dark, your dark brown hair;
'Not handsome, ' the Ambassador
From Venice would opine,
But everyone agreed, your slender neck
Was very fine.

Your sister Mary wooed the King,
And took him to her bed,
She'd thought that she could win; he stayed
With Catherine, instead,
For Harry never dignified
The whores he conquered, when
The skirts he couldn't raise were far
More Queenly, then, to him.

Your eyes, they sparkled, led him on,
Your lips they told him 'No! '
'I would not have my liege, my prince
Think badly of me so! '
For seven years you pouted, swore
Undying love could wait,
Until he gained the great divorce,
Re-sought the wedded state.

Oh, Anne Boleyn, the only sin
You sought was to be free,
To choose the man you would adore,
Not bound by some decree,
But Percy was then barred from court
As Wolsey warned him off,
And Wyatt's gentle poetry
Was merely Courtly Love.

To be demure and gentle,
Acquiesce in Henry's plans,
Was not the way of Anne Boleyn,
You used your pressing charms.
You could be stubborn, quarrelsome
As all in court could hear,
Chapuys called you a 'she-devil',
A woman men should fear.

And so it was with Thomas More,
You helped him disappear,
By whispering words of hatred in
King Henry's willing ear,
Your tongue brought Cardinal Wolsey down,
It ended Fisher's life,
You built your store of Karma as
Our Good King Henry's wife.

You had a bright red petticoat
Worn underneath your smock,
You'd laugh and flirt outrageously,
Excessively, de trop,
But you could not provide the heir
To bolster Henry's worth,
The first born was a pretty girl,
The next two died at birth.

Mark Smeaton played a pretty song
And to your chamber came,
With young Sir Henry Norris
And your brother, George Boleyn,
Sir Francis Weston, Brereton,
Would come to dance and sue
Their Courtly Love, but soon it turned
More sinister for you.

Jane Seymour fixed her eye on him,
Your oh, so loving lord,
And he began to wonder why
He'd blessed you with his word,
He asked of Thomas Cromwell
That he snoop, and spy, and bring
Such evidence that he might break
Your marriage bond to him.

Treason! For adultery,
And incest with Boleyn!
You wept and claimed your innocence,
But none were listening.
The men were taken to the tower,
And then to Tower Hill,
The axeman swung his greedy blade
And watched the five heads spill.

But not the axe for you, my Queen,
Your long and slender neck
Was much too fine to butcher,
To receive such scant respect.
They brought a swordsman from Calais,
A Frenchman for the Queen,
A master of his craft, he'd make
One slice, both swift and clean.

And so you tied your dark brown hair
Up high, to bare your neck,
You donned your bright red petticoat
No blood would show on that;
You gave your speech at Tower Green
Then knelt in whispered prayer,
The swordsman stood well back, his sword
Was hidden in the straw.

With one swift, powerful stroke, the blade
Made sure that you were dead,
Your lips still moved in muttered prayer,
Your eyes rolled in your head.
King Henry heard the news while he
Rode gaily, hunting deer,
And thought once of your petticoat...
Then rode to Jane Seymour.

27 May 2008