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We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
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We will ourself in person to this war;
And, for our coffers, with too great a court
And liberal largess, are grown somewhat light,
We are enforced to farm our royal realm,
The revenue whereof shall furnish us
For our affairs in hand.
Now let us sing, long live the king.
Now let us sing, long live the king.
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.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
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.]
Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.
Over all good things certain, this is sure indeed,
Suffer not the old King, for we know the breed.
Clemency is the surest proof of a true monarch.
[Fr., La clemence est la plus belle marque
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Clemency is the surest proof of a true monarch.
[Fr., La clemence est la plus belle marque
Qui fasse a l'univers connaitre un vrai monqrque.]
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,
