Alas, Cardinal Richelieu
Hid all his secrets in the loo
Along with his white linen socks
And red feathers plucked from old cocks
All the necessities of state
He kept in his rose colored crate
Salted pork chops to wine his Kings
Harpsichords to stir up new flings
Gold plated relics for his Popes
A velvet glove for when he gropes
Most of all he kept his fine words
Mawkish musings o’er blessed curds
Toasts dipped in sacramental wine
War and Peace o’er plum jellied swine
His mustache so fine tailored coiffed
His cheeks bristling whenever scoffed
But nary a scandalous phrase
His clean sheets the source of much praise
For he keeps his night nurse, a Basque
His nightly enemas her task
And pays her with a squirt of milk
He keeps stored in his sequined silk
Heads of State served on gold rimmed plates
Taste the same no matter their fates
Their loosed tongues lathered with cheese
When swallowed with rum makes him sneeze
So he dispenses with liquor
To finish his meals much quicker
The Kings a belch in his belly
Buttered soft with Papal jelly
The stars all aligned in his head
His peace an iron fisted dread
But still there is nothing to fear
His countenance ever so dear
His manners as stiff as his hair
No whiff of perfume in his lair
The tyrant a saint when handsome
Our liberties pay his ransom
His soul released to Saint Peter
While we feed coins to the meter
