'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.

I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will
forgive me: that's his.
[Fr., read more

I shall be an autocrat: that's my trade. And the good Lord will
forgive me: that's his.
[Fr., Moi, je serai autocrate: c'est mon metier. Et le bon Dieu
me pardonnnera: c'est son metier.]

A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his
government is groping.

A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his
government is groping.

Kings are like stars--they rise and set, they have
The worship of the world, but no repose.

Kings are like stars--they rise and set, they have
The worship of the world, but no repose.

A man's a man,
But when you see a king, you see the work
Of many thousand read more

A man's a man,
But when you see a king, you see the work
Of many thousand men.

'Tis so much to be a king, that he only is so by being so.
- Michael read more

'Tis so much to be a king, that he only is so by being so.
- Michael Eyquen de Montaigne,

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 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.

O Richard! O my king!
The universe forsakes thee!

O Richard! O my king!
The universe forsakes thee!