The Gentlemen's Club

Me thinks thou doth protest too much,
When the 'naughty four' approach.
Staged scenes and phantoms play their part,
On fair soil They did encroach.
None so astute, and less adept,
Sir Anderson's war was on,
When Albert said; "What's left to say..
I was my fathers son!"
Prince Edwards vices in a stack,
Much less hard to handle.
The cards in place and all were stacked,
As was the great Scotland Yard scandal!
With Anderson's insight
And Abberline's pen'
Sought Edward's escapes,
there and back again.
There's Snickert with brushes,
who's 'heart' he did find,
A place in two places,
London and Paris entwined.
The Metro and mayhem
dealt such a blow,
to all those black hearts
who roamed East End Row.
No Mason or Queen
or Prince who laid bare,
took part on this stage,
with Albert's despair.
Least we forget,
a doctor of 'spells',
with unsteady hands
and memories From Hell.
No murder too great,
no deed too small,
for such a fair Lady,
displayed in the hall!
Such a portrait was painted
for the Whitechapel skippers,
For all the theatrics
known as Jack The Ripper!

The stage was preset
for such sinister tasks.
All ends were met,
with daggers and masks.
One need only look deeper
Than time and of place,
On the sorrows of another
Who stood in disgrace.

"The pleasures of man is the garden of sin," as Abberline would contest.
"A Welsh Rose on the throne was greater than 'Them'" as Anderson put it to rest.

So to all in the theatre
for King to be placed,
Loose ends must be vanquished
before Queens take their place.

The roses of red and roses of white
bid Scotland farewell and their latest plight!