Often a song sung for children, this tale of an egomaniac getting his just deserts is both cautionary and humorous. Almost everyone has heard it at some point or another, and most fondly remember it from their own youngest days. Lyrics by Gunnar Matheson
A bitter debate there waged
On the height of the scientist stage
At the College of Arms at Olden Waterloo
"Sir Percival, you're mad!
And thought of by most as a cad
And there's none who'll back what you are set to do!"
Polonius was a Lord
Of the House of Jennet-Accord
And not a one for being set on his tail
"I've said what I'm about,
and it'll do no good to shout
For around the world my new balloon will sail!"
"But coal could not be had
Not for "Polonius the Mad"
And so his big balloon just sat on the lawn
He huffed and shouted and fumed,
"You stupid useless balloon!
If I had some heat in a minute I would be gone!"
He ranted and he raved
And the ears of none were saved
From the never-ending tirade, even in sleep!
So his wife, at the end of wits,
said "I've enough of this!"
And as he slept she went and muzzled the creep.
She took hand of the balloon
And stuffed his mouth full true
And then turned over to slumber once again.
But as his heat rushed out,
with his each and every shout
The balloon began to swell into its frame.
When dawn opened his eyes
He was duly surprised
And floating well above old Waterloo
The Lord he yelled and flailed,
but it was to no avail
And the wind it took him up into the blue.
All that day and night
Our dear Lord was a kite
With no basket but himself depending down
The clouds beneath his feet,
and the sky all he could see
And not a single glimpse of sacred ground.
His fuming reached new heights
In his anger and affright
Until he realized what he had done
His own heat kept him high,
perched aloft amid the sky
And none to blame but he the only one.
It took full twenty week
'Til Polonius was meek
Enough to harness his own inner fire
And as he cooled, so too,
did the often-cursed balloon
But in the end he was proven not a liar.
For as he'd floated on
Through the verses of this song
He'd traveled with the jetstream high above
So around the world he went,
'til his froth was fully spent
And he landed once more in the home he loved.
So Polonius went down
As the histories have found
As a storied legend to this very day.
And the moral clearly is,
when one feels the need to hiss...
perhaps 'tis best if vented properlay.