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For God's sake let us sit upon the ground
And tell sad stories of the death of kings!
read more
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,
Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or evil
times; and which have much veneratoin, but no read more
Princes are like to heavenly bodies, which cause good or evil
times; and which have much veneratoin, but no rest.
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.]
I give this heavy weight from off my head
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
The read more
I give this heavy weight from off my head
And this unwieldy sceptre from my hand,
The pride of kingly sway from out my heart.
With mine own tears I wash away my balm,
With mine own hands I give away my crown,
With mine own tongue deny my sacred state,
With mine own breath release all duty's rites.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.
In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.
The Royall Crowne cures not the head-ach.
[The Royal Crown cures not the headache.]
The Royall Crowne cures not the head-ach.
[The Royal Crown cures not the headache.]
The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious read more
The gates of monarchs
Are arched so high that giants may jet through
And keep their impious turbans on without
Good morrow to the sun.
The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.
The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.
