Classic Poem

Where (as ballades so oft begin)
The classic clowns of yesterday?
Where Guillaume of the famous grin,
And eke the gifted Gaultier?
And Tabarin, whose equine-play
Appealed to foreheads high and steep?
Gentles, we hand them this bouquet:
It was to laugh and not to weep.

Where is the fool whose wagging chin
Wiled for his King the hours away?
Vanished into the great Has-Been
L'Angely the clever, and Triboulet.
And Scaramouche, the protege
Of Lou the Great — he earned his keep.
To hear that blithesome donkey bray,
It was to laugh and not to weep.

Where are the zanies, fat and thin;
Who joyed the groundlings — where are they?
Gone, like the monarch's harlequin,
They who tickled the common clay.
Gone the bumpkin who owned their sway;
Clown and rustic together sleep.
This is the tribute we may pay:
It was to laugh and not to weep.

Prince, I have but this word to say:
The old-time jester's wit was cheap,
BUT — (here's the point I would convey) —
It was to laugh and not to weep.