That the king can do no wrong is a necessary and fundamental
principle of the English constitution.

That the king can do no wrong is a necessary and fundamental
principle of the English constitution.

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.

Princes that would their people should do well
Must at themselves begin, as at the head;
For read more

Princes that would their people should do well
Must at themselves begin, as at the head;
For men, by their example, pattern out
Their limitations, and regard of laws:
A virtuous court a world to virtue draws.

There was a king of Thule,
Was faithful till the grave,
To whom his mistress dying,
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There was a king of Thule,
Was faithful till the grave,
To whom his mistress dying,
A golden goblet gave.
[Ger., Es war ein Konig in Tule
Gar treu bis an das Grab,
Dem sterbend seine Buhle
Einen gold'nen Becher gab.]

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.

The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.

The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.

They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is read more

They say Princes learn no art truly, but the art of horsemanship.
The reason is, the brave beast is no flatterer. He will throw a
Prince as soon as his groom.

What is a king? a man condemn'd to bear
The public burthen of the nation's care.

What is a king? a man condemn'd to bear
The public burthen of the nation's care.

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,