Out of his vanities

In a lady’s nightgown, our king himself

In rhythm stepped - and held to his breast a figure

In shape and countenance most like yourself,

Whose bottom half had been cut off, and I recall

The tunic had been sewn from patches

Of elegant fabrics, and bright tails

Were pinned about the torso. Falling then

With you into flowers, he raised up his head,

I saw the boy grin

With a most crazed and piteous affect,

And thought thus to have made my entry

And to have done the task by witness of it.