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.

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.

There's such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts read more

There's such divinity doth hedge a king
That treason can but peep to what it would,
Acts little of his will.

Here lies our mutton-looking king,
Whose word no man relied on,
Who never said a foolish thing
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Here lies our mutton-looking king,
Whose word no man relied on,
Who never said a foolish thing
No ever did a wise one.

Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
Whose word no man relives on,
Who never said a read more

Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
Whose word no man relives on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
And never did a wise one.

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.

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?]

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,

A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.

A crown is merely a hat that lets the rain in.