A pleasant tale we now will sing
Of an old peasant and the King;
The kind Italian King, Humbert,
With the gun is a great expert.
Peasant with wonder saw the King
Bring down the partridges on wing;
The peasant he doth sportsman praise,
Each shot it filled him with amaze.
The King he dearly loves to shoot
In plain garb without his suite;
He casts aside his Kingly fetters,
All his escort are two setters.
To farmer he doth chat pleasant
About the partridge and the pheasant;
He tells the King his chicken flocks
Are oft invaded by the fox.
And proposal he advances
For to give the King two francs,
If he the enemy will slay,
He cheerfully the sum will pay.
But he must come at early morn,
For then the fowls from coop are torn;
The King he came and shot reynard,
And peasant then gave him reward.
And he gave the King his breakfast,
His majesty enjoyed repast,
And kindly chatted to the dame,
Forgetting all his rank and fame.
Next day a carriage drove to door,
With gilt it was all covered o’er;
And liveried servant brought present,
Both for the wife and the peasant.
And now their thoughts do fondly cling
Around their kind-hearted King,
Who won their hearts while in disguise:
The fox he slew they greatly prize.
No more lost fowl they do bewail,
But glory in the fox fine tail;
They love to view him in glass case,
So they may cunning features trace.
It to them doth pleasure bring,
As it reminds them of their King,
Who did one morn at break of day.
Enemy of their chickens slay.