Upon a day of olden days,

A royal lad at school,

In mischief apt, with many a prank,

Defied the good dame’s rule.

But England’s prince no rod might strike,

Though rich was his desert;

Another must the penance bear,

Another feel the hurt!

The “whipping-boy” stood forth to take

The blows he had not earned;

Full meek he stood; no sense of wrong

Within his bosom burned.

Young Edward saw the rod upraised,

His “whipping-boy” to smite;

And suddenly his princely soul

Revolted at the sight.

The shame, the shame, the tingling shame

No blood of kings could brook!

Forward he sprung, the falling rod

In his own hand he took:

“Mine is the blame—be mine the shame

For what I only wrought;

Let none but me endure the pain

My deed alone has brought!”

Thus on a day of days, it chanced,

A royal schoolboy learned

That noble hearts in every age

A coward’s shield have spurned.