Here's health unto His Majesty

Tonight we humble peasants are honoured to be graced by the presence of His Noball High-and-Mightiness the King of Sweden (may He live for ever), who has deigned to grace our meanly hovel during His current Royal Progress through this fair land. He arrived in His golden Carriage of State hauled by numerous sweating steeds who gasped with relief as He transferred His bulk from that regal chariot to the lesser conveyance that was to take Him on the next stage of His journey.

On arrival at this humble inn He was plied with all manner of dainty trifles and liquid refreshment, of which He partook with gusto. The fare seemed to be much to His satisfaction, for He did belch mightily, and indeed for ‘tis true, a Monarch such as He must at all times strive to maintain His doughty (or is that doughy?) stature. He graciously acknowledged our preparations for His comfort with a lordly blow from his Imperial Fist, which resulted in an insignificant concussion to Mine Host.

If Fortune smiles upon this unpretentious abode His Effulsiveness will depart on the morrow fully refreshed and in a suitable condition for any arboreal activities that may come His way.

Ooh, I must away! His Sublime Perspicacity is demanding that another flagon be broached. “I’ll be with you directly, Your Awesomeness!”