What Booker doth prognosticate

Concerning kings’ or kingdoms’ fate?

I think myself to be as wise

As he that gazeth on the skies;

My skill goes beyond the depth of a pond,

Or rivers in the greatest rain,

Thereby I can tell all things will be well

When the King enjoys his own again.

There’s neither swallow, dove, nor dade,

Can soar more high, or deeper wade,

Nor show a reason from the stars

What causeth peace or civil wars;

The Man in the Moon may wear out his shoon

By running after Charles his wain:

But all’s to no end, for the times will not mend

Till the King enjoys his own again.

Though for a time we see Whitehall

With cobwebs hanging on the wall

Instead of silk and silver brave,

Which formerly it used to have,

With rich perfume in every room,

Delightful to that princely train,

Which again you shall see, when the time it shall be,

That the King enjoys his own again.

Full forty years the royal crown

Hath been his father’s and his own;

And is there any one but he

That in the same should sharer be?

For who better may the sceptre sway

Than he that hath such right to reign?

Then let’s hope for a peace, for the wars will not cease

Till the King enjoys his own again.

Till then upon Ararat’s hill

My hope shall cast her anchor still,

Until I see some peaceful dove

Bring home the branch I dearly love;

Then will I wait till the waters abate

Which now disturb my troubled brain,

Else never rejoice till I hear the voice

That the King enjoys his own again.