Royales With Cheese

No doubt each of the wives of Henry Tudor,
the second and more famous one, the eighth,
got sonnets in the mail as Highness wooed her.
Most probably, those weren't about faith,
although the king was known to write a  carol,
and ultimately headed a whole church,
I think more likely intimate apparel,
a topic I continue to research.
Since history is muted on the matter,
while leaving little else to be explored,
let's serve these tidbits neatly, on a platter.
What queen does not deserve to be adored?
And here there are so many, count them, six.
Each queen comes with her ladies and her cliques.

Each queen comes with her ladies and her cliques,
and Katherine of Aragon is surely
the one that must go first into the mix.
The love the king confessed to her, most purely,
as genuine as any in the land,
considering that she's his brother's wife --
convenient when needed, at the end --
for better and for worse, and yes, for life,
he married her, and at the first, was happy.
But all she gave the man was Bloody Mary,
and so before the story gets too sappy
the king decides perhaps he'd rather marry
once more with feeling.  Eminent domain.
A lady is in waiting. Anne Boleyn.

A lady is in waiting. Anne Boleyn.
Though soon enough they will not call her lady,
but Majesty.  In trying to explain
to Clement, who had deemed the matter weighty,
the lustful king attempted to retract
his marriage to his brother Arthur's widow,
suggesting that she wasn't quite intact
at consummation. Clement kept his veto,
and Anne, as luck would have it, lost her head,
but gave us Queen Elizabeth -- we're grateful --
while Henry made the church into his stead.
Was Anne indeed, as is alleged, unfaithful,
and was it really worth it, all that waiting?
The part she loved the best? Anticipating.

The part she loved the best? Anticipating.
Is there a queen for whom this isn't true?
A topic that is surely worth debating.
For some the power strikes out of the blue,
but others scheme through their entire lives,
while salivating merely at the thought,
until the thought alone is what survives,
sustaining them through times both good and fraught.
Jane Seymore, though, by all accounts, in love,
and gave the king the thing he most desired.
If queenship was what she was dreaming of,
the queen that Henry surely most admired,
died happy, for she gave the king a son!
Of all the six, Jane got to be the one.

Of all the six, Jane got to be the one,
though sadly doesn't live to celebrate it.
A son is born and so the deed is done.
The queen is done as well.  Don't you just hate it
when fate, to solely demonstrate its power,
plays such a cruel joke upon our kind?
She keeps her head and skips stay in the Tower
producing a male heir as been assigned,
but soon enough, replaced by Anne of Cleves,
whose portrait failed to do her any justice,
and not even a year before Anne leaves.
(aside to portraitists: when you say "trust us",
a skillful brush subtracts too many pounds)
Her portrait, like her beauty, knew no bounds.

Her portrait, like her beauty, knew no bounds.
A generous divorce and it is over.
She'll get  -- per year -- five hundred English pounds,
and castles not a hundred miles from Dover,
but Henry is already on Miss Howard.
Another of the Cathies lays in wait --
apparently in waiting means empowered,
and all the queen's affairs, affairs of state.
A verdict of adultery was listed.
By then the king could hardly even move,
but memories of better times persisted,
with Cathy he felt younger, in the groove.
She helped him loosen up and to relax.
Eighteen and guilty, Cathy got the ax.

Eighteen and guilty, Cathy got the ax.
Was that a harsher fate than Anne Boleyn's,
who got a Frenchman, not some local hack's
idea of a cut? If that explains
the rumor that the king expressed regret
for Anne upon his deathbed, may it be.
But we're not done with wives, at least not yet.
It'll take another wife to set him free.
A widow, and a Catherine to boot --
you wonder if by now he got confused --
this Catherine was worthy of pursuit,
and when pursued she couldn't have refused.
So here is to the last one, and a star.
Four husbands to her name.  She's Mrs. Parr.