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.

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, "Honi soit qui mal y pense."

St. George he was for England; St. Dennis was for France.
Sing, "Honi soit qui mal y pense."

I would do what I pleased, and doing what I pleased, I should
have my will, and having my read more

I would do what I pleased, and doing what I pleased, I should
have my will, and having my will, I should be contented; and when
one is contented, there is no more to be desired; and when there
is no more to be desired, there is an end of it.

Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.

Their wants but few, their wishes all confin'd.

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,

Whatever I can say or do.
I'm sure not much avails;
I shall still Vicar be of read more

Whatever I can say or do.
I'm sure not much avails;
I shall still Vicar be of Bray,
Whichever side prevails.

We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
read more

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.

Why, our battalia trebles that account:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they read more

Why, our battalia trebles that account:
Besides, the king's name is a tower of strength,
Which they upon the adverse faction want.

Yet looks he like a king. Behold, his eye,
As bright as is the eagle's lightens forth
read more

Yet looks he like a king. Behold, his eye,
As bright as is the eagle's lightens forth
Controlling majesty.