恥ずかしい事です

facing his stolen, bought or robbed beautiful girls and ladies, the members of his undeserving harem, the Lord of the land is in a bit of predicament.
all the serving women dance, giggle and sing him praises around him in an ever advancing circle; him with knitted brows and wincing smiles, turns himself around on his foot, and humours with the multitudes of his legal wives to whom he is duty-bound and honour-bound to provide.
"Isn't it a good day, milord?"
"Milord, let us drink and eat some sweet meat."
"Milord, sing us a song. that beautiful song you learned from a passing troubadour."
"Milord! You look so dashingly handsome today as well!"
"Milord, let us take a walk in the woods or in the garden while the Sun still shines!"
"Milord,"
"Milord!"
the haughty Lord of high social status and privileges, carrying so many titles and a last name worthy of so much prestige, bewildered by the stupiditas mundi before him, had to again slowly turn around on himself to face towards every courtisan that is addressing him at the moment, and finally after he satisfied all their importunate implorations and demands, he cleared his throat a little bit, announcing in a high note with an imperial voice:
Ladies, lasses, grown-up girls.
I have an announcement to make.
He turns away his purple imperial cloak, showing the red vest underneath. he then puts his hand upon the vest and pulls it up, showing the enormous potty belly it has hidden with the deceptive red colour. 
He smacked his protruding belly as if a drum, and it makes a clear and euphonious sound. it reverberates in the vast King's mead hall like a joyful flying echo with wings, and breaks into many more even happier pieces and fragments that bounce and dance all over with celestial speed.
He pointed at that belly that is almost like a small green hillock, and says to his harem with such multitudes of serving courtisans:
when I got up in the morning, instead of manly standing up 
of you-know-what, I found this burden upon my stomach;
it is hilarious that it forms rather below the place where heart is,
I wonder why it is so, but I suppose I am not obliged to breast-feed as I am now.
but this protrusion is a both most wonderful and weird thing that happens to me.
ladies, lasses and grown-up girls.
this is trouble.
I think I am bearing up something inside.
and I think one of you did it to me! quickly, 
confess who did this. we will celebrate together
with a toast to the Greek drunkard God and his grapes,
and I will order my minster to play the pan-flute for a happy hour.
During which we will dance like a mad couple,
upon being newly wedded, once more.
once again!

the harem bursts out in laughter.
some exclaiming the King is wise,
some other him a poet.
some else call him turning old and stupid.
the court jesters then tear up with good-natured ridicule as usual:
"how joyous when you are a king,
with such a bounteous and beautiful harem!
even though one day in the morning,
you missed your time to stand erected, upright very early,
but in the afternoon after getting up fashionably lazy,
looking at a looking glass, thou findest thyself,
a wondrous gift from heaven, that thou canst 
yet make any sense or reason of…ah potty belly,
the King is rather curiously fond of being found out,
that he when he delves into self-philosophizings before his mirror-image,
and turning around, declaring his findings out loud to the crowd,
he is pregnant with a grape's wit,
and in fear of frightening the young and witlessly silly,
he is blessed too, with a quirky twist,
a sheep crook's spiralingly sharp humour!
O Dionysus O Pan.
A Man near his 30s is still a Man!"
Such is the naive giggling of the black grapes.