Miles Kington: What use is divine right when you don't have a sobriquet?

I have been trying to programme the mighty Independent computer to do an Andrew Motion poem for the Queen's 80th birthday, but I have hit a snag. The computer says he is too hard to parody.

Oh well, never mind, I told it. Just do any old bit of royal verse. Here is what it came up with:

King David, using both his arms,

Sat and wrote down all the psalms.

If he had had some extra limbs,

He could have written all the hymns.

Hmm. I explained to the computer that I should have been more specific, and that we needed to do something connected with the British Royal Family.

This is what I got next:

King Charles the First could never see

Why he lacked popularity.

When he went to bed at night

And brushed his teeth, and doused the light,

His final waking thought would be:

"Why does nobody cheer for me?"

And when he woke the following morn

The thought would stab him, like a thorn,

As he took a bath, or showered:

"I am powerful but not empowered!

You can keep those royal things,

The throne, the crown, divine right of kings;

What I want is a cheery wave

From Tom or Dick, or Harry or Dave.

Oh, when I pass by in the street,

Why does no one ever greet

My passing with a single cheer

But only turn away in fear?"

"My Lord," his courtiers would say,

"There is no need to be this way.

Everyone loves you. Look around!

Our curtseys nearly touch the ground!"

But anyone can charm a court;

It was the people's love he sought!

And Charles could never understand

Why the people of the land

Failed to take him to their hearts

After all he'd done for the arts.

"Did I not instruct Van Dyck -

Come on, Dick, get on your bike!

Bring round your canvas and your oils

And do a portrait of us royals!

And did Van Dyck not paint me thrice,

Once full on and sideways twice?

And was the nation grateful? No!

The nation did not want to know!"

Poor King Charles! He could not see

That music, art and poetry

Are not what people think they need.

They'd rather have a glass of mead,

Or public holidays galore

Than queue outside a gallery door.

One night, lying in his bed,

King Charles miserably said:

"Everyone loved Good Queen Bess

And Bluff King Hal; well, more or less.

So what did they have that I have not?

Is there something I have not got?"

Next morning, sitting in his bath,

King Charles gave a sudden laugh.

The truth had hit him as he lay;

What they had was a sobriquet!

And as he sat upright and soaped,

He very, very fervently hoped

That he could win the PR game

By thinking up a good pet name.

Like Louis the Fat, or Charles the Bald

Or whatever Suleiman was called.

Alfred the Great! Solomon the Wise!

He could emulate these guys!

Yes, William conquered, and Edward confessed,

And William Rufus had a red vest!

So Charles discreetly let it be known

He'd like a nickname of his own.

Charles the Good? Charles the Neat?

He might even settle for Charles the Effete.

Charlie? Chuck? At the very worst,

Chazza was better than Charles the First.

"Oh, if people liked me!" Charles did groan,

"I'd have a pet name of my own!"

But they didn't, and so he lost his head,

And ended up as Charles the Dead.

Most unexpected, I told the computer, especially as I had hoped for something in the modern era, or at least within living memory. It paused, and then came out with this.

Nat King Cole

Was a canny old soul

And a canny old soul was he,

For he knew that titles come for free

In the Land of Liberty...

It was at that point that I finally gave up...