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,

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.]

O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile read more

O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.

His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all read more

His legs bestrid the ocean: his reared arm
Crested the world: his voice was propertied
As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends;
But when he meant to quail and shake the orb,
He was as rattling thunder.

Every subject's duty is the king's, but every subject's soul is
his own.

Every subject's duty is the king's, but every subject's soul is
his own.

Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.

Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
With a hairy old crown on 'er 'ead?
She read more

'Ave you 'eard o' the Widow at Windsor
With a hairy old crown on 'er 'ead?
She 'as ships on the foam--she 'as millions at 'ome,
An' she pays us poor beggars in red.

The Prussian Sovereigns are in possession of a crown not be the
grace of the people, but by God's read more

The Prussian Sovereigns are in possession of a crown not be the
grace of the people, but by God's grace.

Knowest thou not that kings have long hands?
[Lat., An nescis longos regibus esse manus?]

Knowest thou not that kings have long hands?
[Lat., An nescis longos regibus esse manus?]