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They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is read more
They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a
Prince as soon as his groom.
The King is dead! Long live the King!
The King is dead! Long live the King!
We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
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We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm our royal realm,
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand.
Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.
Many a crown
Covers bald foreheads.
Every monarch is subject to a mightier one.
[Lat., Omnes sub regno graviore regnum est.]
Every monarch is subject to a mightier one.
[Lat., Omnes sub regno graviore regnum est.]
He who knows how to dissimulate knows how to reign.
[Fr., Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit regnare.]
He who knows how to dissimulate knows how to reign.
[Fr., Qui nescit dissimulare, nescit regnare.]
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And read more
On the king's gate the moss grew gray;
The king came not. They call'd him dead;
And made his eldest son, one day,
Slave in his father's stead.
For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
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For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
How some have been deposed, some slain in war,
Some haunted by the ghosts they have deposed,
Some poisoned by their wives, some sleeping killed--
All murdered; for within the hollow crown
That rounds the mortal temples of a king
Keeps Death his court; and there the antic sits,
Scoffing his state and grinning at his pomp;
Allowing him a breath, a little scene,
To monarchize, be feared, and kill with looks;
Infusing him with self and vain conceit,
As if this flesh which walls about our life
Were brass impregnable; and humored thus,
Comes at the last, and with a little pin
Bores through his castle wall, and farewell king!
Cover your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
With solemn reverence, Throw away respect,
Tradition, form, and ceremonious duty;
For you have but mistook me all this while.
I live with bread like you, feel want, taste grief,
Need friends. Subjected thus,
