Mangy Dogg.

The king is late!
Whatever shall we do?
Whatever is to happen I should think
It's a to-do

The king is dead
Stabbed in his bed
And to what owe we this pleasure?
Why, now we may speak of treason
At our own pace, at our leisure

The prince is dead
And his father, the king
And the next one
And the queen, to boot
Let none see this as tragedy
Let none think applause and laughter moot