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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.
Every noble crown is, and on Earth will forever be, a crown of
thorns.
Every noble crown is, and on Earth will forever be, a crown of
thorns.
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.
O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile read more
O, how wretched
Is that poor man that hangs on princes' favors!
There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to,
That sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin,
More pangs and fears than wars or women have;
And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer,
Never to hope again.
The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.
The trappings of a monarchy would set up an ordinary
commonwealth.
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.
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.]
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,
