God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,
For on his throne his sceptre do they sway;
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God gives not kings the stile of Gods in vaine,
For on his throne his sceptre do they sway;
And as their subjects ought them to obey,
So kings should feare and serve their God againe.

Whenever monarchs err, the people are punished.
[Lat., Quidquid delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi.]

Whenever monarchs err, the people are punished.
[Lat., Quidquid delirant reges, plectuntur Achivi.]

Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,
But the immensest empire is too read more

Ten poor men sleep in peace on one straw heap, as Saadi sings,
But the immensest empire is too narrow for two kings.

In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

In that fierce light which beats upon a throne.

And in the years he reigned; through all the country wide,
There was no cause for weeping, save when read more

And in the years he reigned; through all the country wide,
There was no cause for weeping, save when the good man died.
[Fr., Ce n'est que lorsqu'il expira
Que le peuple, qui l'enterra pleura.]

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.

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,

He who knows not how to dissimulate, can not reign.
[Fr., Qui ne sait dissimuler, ne sait regner.]

He who knows not how to dissimulate, can not reign.
[Fr., Qui ne sait dissimuler, ne sait regner.]

At length her grace rose and with modest paces
Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like
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At length her grace rose and with modest paces
Came to the altar, where she kneeled, and saint-like
Cast her fair eyes to heaven and prayed devoutly;
Then rose again and bowed her to the people;
When by the Archbishop of Canterbury
She had all the royal makings of a queen,
As holy oil, Edward Confessor's crown,
The rod, and bird of peace, and all such emblems
Laid nobly on her; which performed, the choir
With all the choicest music of the kingdom
Together sung 'Te Deum.' So she parted
And with the same full state packed back again
To York Place, where the feast is held.