王侯用詩形（おうこうようしけい、chant royal）は、詩の形式の一種。
構造

「a-b-a-b-c-c-d-d-e-d-E」という押韻構成を持つ11行から成る5つのスタンザ（五連11行）と、「d-d-e-d-E」という押韻構成の5行のアンヴォワもしくは「c-c-d-d-e-d-E」という押韻構成の7行のアンヴォワから構成される。
歴史

14世紀、クリスティーヌ・ド・ピザン（en:Christine de Pizan）とオルレアン公シャルル・ド・ヴァロワがフランスの詩に導入したのがはじまりで、イングランドには19世紀末、フランス詩への関心が一般に高まった時に導入された。
例He is the despots' Despot. All must bide, - (a)Later or soon, the message of his might; - (b)Princes and potentates their heads must hide, - (a)Touched by the awful sigil of his right; - (b)Beside the Kaiser he at eve doth wait - (c)And pours a potion in his cup of state; - (c)The stately Queen his bidding must obey; - (d)No keen-eyed Cardinal shall him affray; - (d)And to the Dame that wantoneth he saith-- - (e)"Let be, Sweet-heart, to junket and to play." - (d)There is no King more terrible than Death. - (E)

The lusty Lord, rejoicing in his pride,He draweth down; before the armed KnightWith jingling bridle-rein he still doth ride;He crosseth the strong Captain in the fight;The Burgher grave he beckons from debate;He hales the Abbot by his shaven pate,Nor for the Abbess' wailing will delay;No bawling Mendicant shall say him nay;E'en to the pyx the Priest he followeth,Nor can the Leech* his chilling finger stay . . . [doctor]There is no King more terrible than Death.

All things must bow to him. And woe betideThe Wine-bibber,--the Roisterer by night;Him the feast-master, many bouts defied,Him 'twixt the pledging and the cup shall smite;Woe to the Lender at usurious rate,The hard Rich Man, the hireling Advocate;Woe to the Judge that selleth Law for pay;Woe to the Thief that like a beast of preyWith creeping tread the traveller harryeth:--These, in their sin, the sudden sword shall slay . . .There is no King more terrible than Death.

He hath no pity, -- nor will be denied.When the low hearth is garnished and bright,Grimly he flingeth the dim portal wide,And steals the Infant in the Mother's sight;He hath no pity for the scorned of fate:--He spares not Lazarus lying at the gate,Nay, nor the Blind that stumbleth as he may;Nay, the tired Ploughman,--at the sinking ray,--In the last furrow,--feels an icy breath,And knows a hand hath turned the team astray . . .There is no King more terrible than Death.

He hath no pity. For the new-made Bride,Blithe with the promise of her life's delight,That wanders gladly by her Husband's side,He with the clatter of his drum doth fright.He scares the Virgin at the convent grate;The Maid half-won, the Lover passionate;He hath no grace for weakness and decay:The tender Wife, the Widow bent and gray,The feeble Sire whose footstep faltereth,--All these he leadeth by the lonely way . . .There is no King more terrible than Death.