Anne Boleyn radiated with glee
At her wedding in 1533
For Henry VIII’s poor ex-wife
Barely escaped with her life,
Discarded by the king’s own decree.
Anne reveled in her gambit’s success
As victor in the royal game of chess
But as with Catherine of Aragon,
A Tudor queen’s a mere pawn
That the next minor piece can dispossess.
Impatient, Henry began to disparage
Anne for her third straight miscarriage;
He obsessed over the heir
That a new consort could bear
As his mind filled with thoughts of remarriage.
Anne’s demise hastened with Jane Seymour,
Her handmaiden and the king’s paramour,
Who flauntingly savored
Being Henry’s most favored
To replace her declining predecessor.
The queen’s vindictive enemies,
The powerful Cromwell and Chapuys,
Made false accusations
Alleging machinations
Of regicide and wicked sorceries.
Anne’s ardent protestations failed to sway
The corrupt court that ruled she must pay
With her life at their behest
For treason and incest
By the stroke of a swordsman from Calais.
There was much royal fuckery afoot. King Henry did Anne’s sister, Mary, and possibly her mother, Elizabeth Howard, too. He also banged Anne’s other lady-in-waiting, Madge Shelton, while he was doing Jane Seymour, who, incidentally, was Anne’s second cousin. It’s not incest, if it all happens in someone else’s family!
