Royal Order of Jesters Plate

Royal Order of Jesters

Commemorative Plate

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Here is a beautiful "Royal Order of Jesters" plate titled "The Actor". It was produced in a limited edition of 5,000 of which this plate is No. 191. It was made by the Royal Bayreuth Co. of Germany established in 1797. It measures 9 3/4 inches in diameter. Please note: The original 5,000 limited edition has sold out!

Jesters, usually so-called, but more formally named the Royal Order of Jesters, is an organization evolved out of the good fellowship of members of the Mystic Shrine during a voyage to Honolulu, February 15 to March 7, 1911. An offhand ceremony grew into a ritual, and to local Courts and a National Body, very much of its success due to the initiative of William S. Brown, many years the Treasurer of the Mystic Shrine; Lou B. Winsor, Past Imperial Potentate and Grand Secretary of Michigan, and others of their genial kind who organized and led the Body whose local units were limited to thirteen initiates yearly. Initiation, by invitation, and unanimous ballot, limited to members in good standing of the Mystic Shrine. The slogan "Mirth is King," expounded by Jester Brown, and the poem by Edmund Rowland Sill, "The Fool's Prayer," recited by Jester Winsor, have furnished inspiration. Officers, thirteen, bear the titles: Director, Tragedian, Property Man, Impressario, Treasurer, Soubrette, Light Comedian, Serio Comic, Heavy Man, Leading Lady, Judge, High Constable, Stage Manager; the national officer's titles are the same but preceded by the word Royal.

Jester's Creed

Laugh and the glad world laughs with you;

Weep and the sad world will sigh!

Mirth is our life's true elixir;

It shows you're a "regular guy."

There's nothing that so banishes worry,

Nor puts such a big crimp in sin;

Nor smoothes out the wrinkles of trouble,

like a jolly old Jester-mans grin!

It rolls of the years from your shoulders;

You'll forget that you've grown to be men!

Your youth turns once more to embrace you;

For you've grown to be school boys again!

So, if you've got grouches, don't bring 'em;

Its your laugh and your joke that we need;

For mirth is the doctor of trouble,

And Laughter, the Jester-man's Creed!

The Jester holding the skull pictured above is symbolic of the relationship that a Jester has for his Brother that has gone before him. Below is a poem that was penned prior to 1860 by an anonymous writer titled:

Lines to a Skeleton

Behold this ruin, "Twas a skull Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat, This space was Thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot, What dreams of pleasure long forgot? Nor hope, nor joy, nor love, nor fear, Have left one trace on record here. Beneath this mouldering canopy Once shone the bright and busy eye: But start not at the dismal void--If social love that eye employed. If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed; That eye shall be forever bright When stars and sun are sunk at night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue; If Falsehood's honey it disdained, And when it could not praise be chained. If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke--This silent tongue shall plead for thee When Time unveils Eternity. Say, did these fingers delve the mine, Or with the envied rubies shine? To hew a rock or wear a gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourners brought, These hands a richer meed they claim Than all that wait on Wealth and Fame. Avails it whether bare or shod These feet the paths of duty trod? If from the bowers of Ease they fled. To seek Affliction's humble shed. If Grandeur's guilty bribe they spurned, And home to Virtue's cot returned--These feet with angel wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky.

The Fool’s Prayer

By Edward Rowland Sill


THE ROYAL feast was done; the King
Sought some new sport to banish care,
And to his jester cried: “Sir Fool,
Kneel now, and make for us a prayer!”

The jester doffed his cap and bells,	5
And stood the mocking court before;
They could not see the bitter smile
Behind the painted grin he wore.

He bowed his head, and bent his knee
Upon the monarch’s silken stool;	10
His pleading voice arose: “O Lord,
Be merciful to me, a fool!

“No pity, Lord, could change the heart
From red with wrong to white as wool:
The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord,	15
Be merciful to me, a fool!

“ ’T is not by guilt the onward sweep
Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay;
’T is by our follies that so long
We hold the earth from heaven away.	20

“These clumsy feet, still in the mire,
Go crushing blossoms without end;
These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust
Among the heart-strings of a friend.

“The ill-timed truth we might have kept—	25
Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung!
The word we had not sense to say—
Who knows how grandly it had rung!

“Our faults no tenderness should ask,
The chastening stripes must cleanse them all;	30
But for our blunders—oh, in shame
Before the eyes of heaven we fall.

“Earth bears no balsam for mistakes;
Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool
That did his will; but Thou, O Lord,	35
Be merciful to me, a fool!”

The room was hushed; in silence rose
The King, and sought his gardens cool,
And walked apart, and murmured low,
“Be merciful to me, a fool!”	40

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