The end of this month will see the long-awaited opening of the Edinburgh tram system. To mark this historic occasion, Stephen Midgley has provided us with a Reader’s Gem of truly epic proportions (on time and under budget, I might add):

The Harrowing Tale of the Edinburgh Trams

I. Heart of a City Filled with Dismay

Sound the trumpets, beat the drums,
For the opening day of our capital’s trams!
Rejoice and sing, ye travellers of Edinboro’,
For ’tis the end of all your misery and sorrow.

At last the work is finished on the new tramline
Which the people have awaited for a very long time;
’Tis an epic tale of hope, folly, chaos and calamity,
A harrowing transport saga which I’ll now relate to ye.

’Twas in the year of 1956, on the 16th day of November,
Which the citizens of Edinburgh would long remember,
That the last of the old trams ran along Princes Street,
And thereafter other modes of transport the people’s needs must meet.

“Fear ye not”, said the leaders of the city’s Corporation,
“For there are buses and other means of transportation;
Besides, many folk now have conveyances of their own
And so there will be no cause for ye to moan.”

But as the years went by the traffic did greatly grow,
And journeys through the city became ever more slow;
And the Council, as by then ’twas called, encountered much opprobrium,
For on the capital’s streets ’twas chaos and pandemonium.

Motorists also were in great dismay and woe
Because where for to park their cars they did not know,
And misery and frustration were plain to see in their faces
Because there were not sufficient parking spaces.

But the council devised many ways their coffers for to fill
From the pockets of the folk who in the capital did dwell,
So the parking office clerks did dance in their glee
As they raked in every meter charge, clamping and recovery fee;

And the hearts of the parking attendants felt light and gay
As they affixed their penalty notices to windscreens without the least delay,
Stating: “A large amount of money you must speedily pay,
Or else your heart will be filled with even more dismay.”

II. The Council’s Magnificent Master Plan

But in the year 2001 the council announced to the Edinburgh folk,
“We intend for to solve all your transport problems at a stroke,
For we have conceived a cunning plan,
Namely, the return of the electric tram.

Like the world’s great cities, we will be as good as the rest,
Such as Moscow, Buenos Aires, Berlin and Budapest,
Or Prague, Milan, Toronto and Amsterdam,
Where the people can travel everywhere by tram.

So we will have tramlines in several directions,
All meeting in the centre, with excellent connections.
Our plans are bold, the lines well placed and long;
What could there possibly be for to go wrong?”

Some brave souls expressed grave reservations
Concerning the council’s costing calculations,
Saying the trams’ revenue would be less and the expense would greatly rise
But alas! the council paid no heed to what the doubters did advise.

Countless meetings and discussions took place,
But the tramlines soon diminished while the cost did rise apace,
Until eventually there would be just one line instead of three
And even this far shorter than ’twas meant to be.

By the year 2006 with the contractors ’twas agreed
That the project without further delay would proceed,
With one line from the airport to Leith, via Princes Street,
And in the year 2011 the work would be complete.

But the laying of the tramlines saw great trouble and delay
Which filled the people’s hearts with dismay,
And the closures and chaos in the streets of Edinboro’
Did cause many a citizen’s brow deeply for to furrow.

For some streets were dug up and closed for several years,
Reducing traders and shoppers alike to tears,
And businesses protested with all their might
At the terrible effects of planning blight.

The streets were forever full of cages, and men in yellow jackets,
Their machinery all the while making a fearful racket.
And the slow progress of the project caused great despair,
Especially when Princes Street was dug up for a second time, I do declare!

By now ’twas far behind schedule and well over budget,
But the council continued to try for to fudge it,
Because unfortunately the thought had not entered their minds
To agree upon the cost ere the contract was signed.

One option they faced, which I must not fail to mention,
Was the embarrassing prospect of complete cancellation,
But the councillors could not bear with shame for to blush
If down the lavatorium their entire tram project they would flush.

After many more months of dispute and delay
The contractors unto the city council did say:
“Tell you what we’ll do for you, squire,
If to have your new tramline you still do desire,

You can have half the line for double the cost.”
To the council this seemed too good a bargain to be lost,
For ‘twas said that in arithmetic they were none too bright
And that some were scarce able for to read and write.

So they replied: “Your generous offer is just what we need”,
And so without dismay ’twas agreed,
At St Andrew Square the line would now stop short
Instead of continuing as far as Leith port.

III. The Battle of Haymarket

Then came a great battle, fierce and notorious,
Fought ‘twixt the councillors in a manner most furious
In the year of 2011, on August the 25th day,
Which will long be remember’d with horror and dismay.

For now ’twas proposed to shorten the line even more,
To avoid further rising costs which would cause distress most sore.
So there would be no trams along Princes Street after all,
Although the tracks had already been laid and were plain to be seen by all!
But instead the line from the airport would finish at Haymarket,
And if people wanted to go any further they would have to take a bus or walk it.

The Haymarket battalions faced the St Andrew Square brigade
Who were for keeping the line into the city as already agreed.
Oh! what savage slaughter was seen on that day
As both armies with the bayonet did charge without dismay.

This way and that the bloody battle swayed
As both sides their arguments vehemently made;
And many councillors on the floor dead or wounded did lay,
But when at last the fight was o’er, ’twas the Haymarket hordes had won the day!

The calamitous decision was announced without delay;
Oh, heaven! how the people’s hearts were filled with dismay,
Because all sensible men and women confesses
That the city council must have taken leave of their senses.

“I don’t believe it!” people in the streets did say,
And the Scottish press did have a field day;
The Evening News at the councillors much ridicule did poke
With its front page headline exclaiming “WHAT A JOKE!”
Depicting them as clowns, each one with a red nose,
And inviting voters the silly elves to depose
As soon as the next opportunity arose.

But worse was yet to come, for the very next day,
To the councillors’ horror and great dismay,
The Scottish Finance Secretary, John Swinney,
Did heap upon them still further ignominy
By issuing a statement without delay
In which to the foolish council he did say:

“When the government agreed to chip in with a few bob
’Twas on the assumption you were going for to do a decent job,
But you’ll not be getting a penny more from us
If you expect travellers to get off the tram at Haymarket and wait for a bus.

So your government grant you can now forget,
For the remaining millions you will no longer get,
And any further subsidy we will only pay
If you see to it that your tramline goes all the way.”

And so, after all the fearful carnage and slaughter,
The Haymarket plan was now dead in the water.
Then the council yet again met for further discussion
And agreed to revert to the St Andrew Square option.

So the outcome of the Battle of Haymarket was reversed,
And the foolish proposal would forever be cursed;
So let us be thankful its proponents were unhorsed,
For of all possible choices ’twas by far the worst.

IV. Tramway to Paradise

Now that the project no longer was doomed,
The work on the tramlines once more was resumed;
And at long last, on the 31st day of May in the year 2014,
The tramcars are here, and most handsome to be seen.

So finally they’re running, although several years late,
And let us all pray ’twas worth the wait,
But after all the havoc, the trials and tribulations,
’Tis now the time for joyful celebrations.

So, proud citizens of Edinburgh, hold your heads up high
As the trams along their new lines speedily do fly,
For a splendid conveyance is the electric tram
And to gainsay it there’s few people can.

Let us hope those one billion pounds have been well spent
And that the service will be extremely efficient,
And may the twelve new bridges be well built and strong
To defy the Storm Fiend as the trams roll along.

But, citizens, I warn ye to beware of the tramcar’s dangers,
Especially if to this mode of transport ye be strangers:
Pedestrians, pay heed to its stealthy approach
And take care upon its path not to encroach.

Ye car drivers, watch and listen for the trams, and to them give way
Or else your hearts will soon be filled with dismay,
For if to obstruct the tram’s progress ye durst
Your car will undoubtedly come off the worst;

And never park your vehicle on or near the line,
For ’twill quickly be removed and you’ll pay a large fine.
Ye cyclists, be warned to cross the tramlines at right angles
Or else you’ll be unseated, and your front wheel mangled.

Tram passengers, heed my advice and do not dare
To board the tramcar without paying your fare,
Though if to observe this rule ye should fail
At least you’ll not have very far to trail,
For the tram stops at Saughton, close by the jail.

But now at last I must conclude my muse
By urging the people their new tram service to use,
For ‘twould be a great pity, and by no means funny,
If it all turned out to be a ridiculous waste of money.

So, ye travellers of Edinburgh, be advised by me
And step aboard your new tramcars with joyful alacrity,
For the tram doth bring an end to all your misery and woe
Provided ’tis to the airport ye wish for to go.

Stephen Midgley, with acknowledgments to William McGonagall

With additional, grateful acknowledgments to: Edinburgh Evening News, The Scotsman, Edinburgh Council, Edinburgh Trams, Scott Griffith, Chris Hunt at McGonagall Online, Pete Gregson at Kids Not Suits, Aldo Broon at Edinburgh Trambles, and the makers of the Hitler Downfall parody video Edinburgh Trams Fiasco.

Today marks the 150th anniversary of the giving of the Gettysburg Address by President Abraham Lincoln. These few words that Lincoln said “the world will little note, nor long remember” have become perhaps the best-known speech in American history. Is there any more that can be learned about this famous oration? Well, apparently there is!

By an astonishing coincidence, regular contributor Stephen Midgley has unearthed a document that casts the President’s words in a whole new light…

McGonagall at Gettysburg
or
Guidance for Mr. Lincoln, from a Scots Poetic Genius, on how to make a Good Speech

’Twas in the year of 1776, and on July the 4th day
That our people declared independence without dismay,
For on that date a new nation was founded,
Which upon certain noble principles was grounded.

Those principles were liberty and equality;
And oh! how the people did dance in their glee,
For they would no longer pay taxes to far-away kings
And they could buy their goods with dollars instead of shillings.

Now, eighty-seven years later, we are engaged in a war
For to test whether such a nation can long endure,
And because the backs of the slaves in the South are sore,
For of cruel abuse and punishment they can take no more.

Here on this field was fought a great battle,
Of which the world for a very long time will prattle;
Our Union troops were led by General Meade,
And to a man they all fought very bravely indeed.

But alas! I am very sorry to say
That many thousands of lives were lost that day,
And on the two days that preceded it;
But ’twas a victory and, by God, we needed it.

For in the end the rebel hordes were made for to flee,
Even though they were commanded by Robert E. Lee,
And in spite of that general’s undoubted charisma
Our forces defeated him without any stigma.

The world will not for very long remember
What we say here on this 19th day of November,
But ’tis rather those who fought here who’ll be remember’d
Because many of them were killed, or at least dismember’d.

Now ’tis for the rest of us to finish the task they began,
And to gainsay it there’s very few people can.
So let us ensure these men died not in vain,
And that in future no one will have cause for to complain.

Therefore, fellow citizens, be advised by me,
Whether ye be of high or low degree,
That the hearts of the people will be filled with elation
If a new birth of freedom be had by this nation.

And our final resolution is really quite simple:
That government of the people, by the people, for the people,
For which there’s a demand in every clime,
Shall not perish from the earth for a very long time.

Footnote

The above poetic gem, unmistakably the work of William McGonagall, was recently discovered among the Lincoln family’s private papers. In addition to its content, its very existence is interesting for two reasons: firstly, it indicates that McGonagall was already practising the art of poetry some years earlier than had hitherto been supposed; and, secondly, it could shed an entirely new light on the poet’s relationship with other great figures of the age. It is possible that, after Mr. Lincoln had given his Address and it had received widespread international coverage, McGonagall felt convinced that he could improve upon it and, somewhat in the manner of the renaissance parody Mass, decided to fashion an altogether grander and more memorable work based upon the original material. In a spirit of helpfulness, the poet would naturally have sent the President a copy of the resulting lay.

It is equally plausible, however, that the poem may have been the result of Mr. Lincoln’s approaching the Scots poet and tragedian for advice and suggestions in advance of his forthcoming address at Gettysburg. If so, this would explain why the President, having made liberal use of the poet’s ideas in his speech, would have chosen to keep McGonagall’s document private – being understandably reluctant to reveal that most of what became known as “his” Gettysburg Address, and the ideas expressed therein, were in fact largely the work of another.

Either way, admirers of William McGonagall – and indeed of Abraham Lincoln – will wish to compare the two versions and judge their respective merits for themselves.

— Stephen Midgley, with acknowledgments to William McGonagall and Abraham Lincoln

Esther D. writes from Germany with this tribute to the bard’s historical output:

W. T. McGonagall – The world’s worst poet or a great local historian

We must ask ourselves: Was he the worst poet, or a great historian?!

His unique ability to give accounts of his days was absolutely remarkable.
Only a few of the so-called Oxbridgian poets give such a well-detailed (and for everyman`s understanding)account of their days without going overboard with negative personal judgements.
Of their accounts I can only say: hardly dependable!
W. T. McGonagall spoke of real events that occurred during his life time giving us, if you will, an eye-witness report and yet he is mocked – just because he did not first consult with Shakespearean scholars.
Well, BOO you! And I mean you, you and Shakespeare, too, not forgetting also you Lars.

It is most funny how apparently intelligent folks read the works of a nation’s (I understand also the world´s) worst poet and yet these very intelligent folks do not understand that what he created were not simply works of poetry but grand historical manuscripts.
So, who is the worst, the poet or the reader?!
Hmm, I wonder!
And I am not even in Scotland standing in my shoes.
But in Deutschland sitting on my couch writing this but with no one to schmooze.

I guess ye much prefer the cock and bull-shit accounts given by imaginative modern-day wanna-be historians.
The great scholars who produce books filled with “what I think happened” AKA fanciful truths.
W. T. McGonagall accounts may be mostly about his local surroundings, but should nonetheless be treated as useful historical accounts just as those from other great historians.
Not even Shakespeare was able to give a poetic account of his day without spicing it up with fiction, and lots of it.
Mr McGonagall´s works should not be compared with Mr Shakespeare´s – no artist should be compared with the other as the creativity, and indeed the beauty of art is in the eye of the beholder.
See splashing a bucket of paint on to a canvas and calling it art…no comment – I leave you to it.

His poems were, in my humble opinion, well written just with weak rhyming – So what?!
Should they not be seen as his own literal creations just as Shakespeare created his own world of writing??!
Has any of you who mock him ever heard of literal creativity??!! It seems NOT!
To me, his idea of literal creativity is much inviting.

Sir W. T. McGonagall was in every way literature is to be understood – a genius!
For someone with little or no education to come up with what he came up with – his writing, his determination to pursue his dreams, his idea of self-marketing…is bloody well impressive!
Even those J.K. Rowling loving twats will agree with this.
It just comes to prove that even in those days no one needed Oxbridge and co to produce a work of genius.
So, aloud I say to all ye naysayers read his works with understanding and stop being repulsive.

Mr W.T. McGonagall was just a poor man trying to make ends meet and darn he did!
He made two contrasting ends called the queen´s gate, and a poor man´s weary legs meet.
Pompous Victoria jealous that this she couldn’t accomplish, she hid.
A good thing England did not make him king as he would have missed the ship to New York´s tea and bread, and bread and meat.

A Scotsgirl I am not– just someone who tries to encourage the different faces of creativity, and one who recognises a good history book.
I endeavoured to change your perception about one of the world’s great historians, this I hope I have archived, and now I must go cook.

Stephen Midgley writes with a few lines to bring his previous Lines in Praise of the Wimbledon Championships up to date with recent developments:

Epilogue to Lines in Praise of Wimbledon

The foregoing words were penned by McGonagall
In the year 2012, and in good faith all,
But the poet thought not that they’d soon be outdated
By an event that the British had for so long awaited.

For the very next summer, as if in reply,
Did Scot Andy Murray, in the month of July,
Win the men’s tournament with brilliant play
And in heroic manner, which no one dare gainsay.

For in the final he played against Djokovic, the Serb,
Who in vain tried the Scotsman’s great skills for to curb,
And when Andy hit the winning shot with his racket
The hearts of the British onlookers were ecstatic.

Then the crowds acclaimed loudly his triumph most brave
While fans and politicians their flags high did wave,
And so the new champion won glory and fame
Which were richly deserved by the man from Dunblane.

Tom Mc Rae, a reader from “down under” with quite a hoard of gems to his name already, writes with a politically inspired one:

This morning I am in deep trouble, you may have heard that Julia Gillard has been deposed as our PM. I had thought I was free of the spirit of World’s best bad poet and poet laureate of the Temperance Movement, William McGonagall but he has just channeled, me from his flying saucer residence on the moon’s dark side. I am commanded to put his commemorative “poem” on record.

On the Memorable Events of Tuesday 26th June 2013

Of glorious joy I do not lack,
For Julia’s gone and Kevin’s back.
Overthrown by 47 votes to 55, nothing sinister,
Kev is now holding the reins again as Australia’s Prime Minister.
In trying the discontent in Labor ranks to halt,
’Twas she who called the ballot so it was her own fault.
That when she had assembled the Labor host,
Kevin won the ballot and Julia Gillard lost.
But courageous Julia did not in despair retreat,
On the contrary she with great honour accepted her defeat.
And without any bitterness or display of frown,
Our first female Prime Minister gracefully stepped down.
Then somewhat later, without any offence,
Kevin Rudd gave his first press conference.
Presented for all to see throughout the nation,
On every Australian TV station.
He praised Julia’s achievements then stated without any cynicism,
That he wanted to save Australia from Tony Abbot’s negativism.
As Julia rides into the sunset,
I can say without regret.
At least now we will not be exposed to cartoons sickening,
That slander her, all drawn by the vile Larry Pickering.
And let us all now hail with joy,
Kevin Rudd, PM, Queensland’s very own Boy.
I pray he will rescue Australia from great furies,
By closing down all pubs, wineries, and breweries
But, remember, there were TWO events I stated,
The other? Let it be related,
That Queensland won two victories bright,
By beating Victoria and New South Wales in a single night.
Both those states were forced to yield,
One at Canberra the other on Lang Park footy field.
So I hail 26th June 2013 as I conclude my rhyme.
A date that will be remembered for a very long time!

Regular contributor Stephen Midgley has taken up his pen once more. This time, perhaps inspired by certain lines in praise of local shopkeepers, he has written a paean to Ducati Glasgow – purveyors of motorbikes to the inhabitants of Scotland’s second grandest city. Whether they choose to reward the poet with an example of their wares remains to be seen…

Lines in Praise of Ducati Glasgow

’Twas in the year 2002, and on June the twenty-nine,
A day which Scotland’s bikers will remember for a very long time,
That Ducati Glasgow opened its doors with great ceremony
To display the finest motorcycles which are made in Italy.

For at that time there was no Ducati dealer in the region,
The city of Glasgow, land of Taggart and of brave John Smeaton,
And fans of the Italian brand were in great dismay and sorrow
Because for their bikes and servicing they must go to Edinboro’.

For Ducatis are fine motorbikes, and beautiful to see,
Oh! so splendid to be ridden and of highest quality;
There are the Hypermotard, the Diavel and the Monster,
And riding the Multistrada will also bring great rapture,
And the Superbikes, eleven-ninety-eight, nine-one-six and seven-four-nine,
And especially the Panigale which is exceeding fine.

So if you are considering to replace your ancient steed
With an Italian two-wheeled motorised velocipede,
Then get thee along without delay to the Great Western Road,
Where you can see all these Ducatis so magnificent to behold.

And if to Ducati Glasgow you should come on a two-wheeler,
You can park it in the street outside the front door of the dealer;
But if instead you come by car, then park it in the alley,
And enter by the back passage for to view the Panigale.

As soon as you go into the shop, you will see straight away
The many awards, such as Dealer of the Year, which are on display,
For customers their praises to the skies have often lauded,
Though, sad to say, some other bike shops long ago their windows boarded.

The staff of this emporium are as welcoming as can be,
And they soon will make you feel at home with a cup of good coffee;
Martin Rees is the man in charge, and the chief salesman is Blair,
And they are both very helpful and most expert, I do declare,
For whether you are young or old, skinny or a fatty
They will soon find the right bike for you, preferably a red Ducati.

But if you are no millionaire by some sad mischance,
To ride the Ducati of your dreams you may well need finance,
So you should have a chat about this with business manager Kerrie,
And after that your heart will soon be cheerful, gay and merry,
For not only is the fair Kerrie most beautiful to be seen
But she can arrange easy payments for you, even if you’re very mean.

And then there are the workshop boys, George and Craig and Charlie,
Who’ll do a great job on your bike, even if ’twas running poorly,
And Harry is the parts manager, who’ll obtain without dismay
Anything you need, whether ’tis a fairing or can of spray.

Indeed they are good people all, such as service driver Robin,
And I must mention Mrs Rees, who keeps the place so clean,
Which you will notice the minute that you step in through the door,
For you could gladly eat your luncheon off the showroom floor.
And then there’s Vincent the “Ducati dog”, a boxer is his breed,
Who is so gentle and friendly that he doesn’t need to be on a lead.

But I pray ye riders, once you have your bike, be advised by me,
Take care when you open the throttle of your nice new Ducati,
For you would be most sensible to be extremely wary
Lest your collar soon be felt by the Strathclyde constabulary,
Who care not whether you are on a moped or a Panigale.

So when you ride off up the A-eighty-two on your Ducati
Heading for a day out amid Scotland’s splendid scenery,
Of Strathclyde’s eagle-eyed finest you must take especial heed
Lest you travel the Queen’s highway at an excessive speed;

Or else you could get points upon your licence and a fine,
Which will be remember’d by your insurers for a very long time.
So, ye bikers, do not think for to exceed the ton,
At least until you’re well and truly clear of Dumbarton.

Another fantastic effort by Stephen Midgley in the style we all know and love. This time his genius of poetry is inspired by a certain tennis competition…

Lines in Praise of the Wimbledon Championships

Oh! ’tis time for Wimbledon fortnight again,
The great tennis tournament for ladies and men;
Crowds flock to the show courts, match after match,
While vast multitudes in their homes do watch.

The rules of the game are very clear,
The competitors hit a ball through the air;
One player strikes it with his racket,
And his opponent back over the net must whack it.

So the ball flies rapidly back and forth,
And the players run about the court for all they are worth;
Sunshiny days are the best for lawn tennis,
But sometimes wet weather can be a fearful menace.

The court is of green grass, marked out with lines of white,
And the players try hard for to place the ball just right,
For they must pay heed to where it touches the ground,
Or else they will not get through to the next round.

Some hit the ball past the other player
With lightning speed, I do declare,
While others use tactics, precision and cunning,
Which are equally effective ways of winning.

Sometimes the ball strikes the ground so fast,
’Tis hard to tell exactly where it lands on the grass,
And, sad to say, there may follow an argument,
As the players seek ways to express their dissent.

For some men defer to the umpire’s decision,
While others do treat it, alas! with derision,
Like John McEnroe, whose conduct in his youth was notorious,
Especially for his famous catchphrase, “Thou canst not be serious!”

The great tennis players have earned many honours,
Such as Rosewall, Laver, Hoad, Borg and Connors,
And I must mention Edberg, Lendl and Becker,
Also Agassi, Sampras, Nadal and Federer.

Sometimes a match doth the nation enthral,
Like the final in the year 2008 ‘twixt Federer and Nadal,
A battle that lasted for a very long time,
And will be remember’d for an even longer time.

The ladies too are a sight to witness,
Such as Goolagong, King, Sharapova and Hingis,
But some say the best of all was Steffi Graf,
And ’twas a happy day she became Andre Agassi’s better half;

And Serena and Venus, the Williams sisters,
Who strike the ball at a pace that blisters;
They have even played each other on Centre Court,
Where so many desperate battles are fought.

Hurrah also for Martina Navratilova,
And who can forget the fair Anna Kournikova?
So beautiful to behold, she made men’s hearts beat faster,
But alas! of tennis the finer points she could not quite master.

And what of the brave British, who strive so hard for to play,
But often fill onlookers’ hearts with dismay?
Such as ‘Tiger Tim’ Henman, and Scot Andy Murray
Who may yet reach the top, but perhaps not in a hurry.

For, ’tis pitiful to relate, the British are rather unlucky,
Although our players are extremely plucky;
And they never throw their rackets, kick, shout or swear,
But they set an example to their foreign foes everywhere.

For the game of tennis is a noble sport,
Which keeps men away from strong drink, rum or port,
And if a player drinks whisky, beer or gin,
Be advised by me, he never shall win.

At the All England Club in the open air they do play,
Which is good for the health, there’s none can gainsay,
So ’tis game, set and match to British sportsmanship,
And that is the reason why Wimbledon is the world’s best championship.

Kate Adamson writes in with this gem, written for the Minute McGonagall event last night:

An Ode to Queen Elizabeth the Second in her Jubilee Year

O wonderful and long-lived Majesty!
How happy I am that I have lived to see
Your anniversary of sixty years on the throne
Where you have not been alone
But have been supported by Prince Philip your consort,
Who when he keeps his mouth shut is quite a good sort.

O wonderful and long-lived Majesty!
We will celebrate your jubilee.
You will travel round the country once again.
We know you will not ever say anything that is profane.
Instead a great deal of interest you will feign
When someone attempts the widget factory to explain.

O wonderful and long-lived Majesty!
There will be a river boat and some pageantry.
We will put up Union Jack bunting.
There will be street parties with food and wine unstinting
And a long weekend holiday,
Except in Scotland where some people do not get the Monday
And where you should be known as Elizabeth the First, by the way.

O great and long-lived Majesty!
Please do not die soon or we will have to have Charlie.