King Henry V of England:
What infinite heart's-ease must kings forgo, that private men enjoy? And what have kings, that privates have not too, save ceremony? And what art thou, thou idle ceremony, that suffer'st more of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers? What drink'st thou oft, instead of homage sweet, but poison'd flattery? O, be sick, great greatness, and bid thy ceremony give thee cure! Canst thou, when thou command'st the beggar's knee, command the health of it? No, thou proud dream, that play'st so subtly with a king's repose; I am a king that find thee, and I know 'tis not the orb and sceptre, crown imperial, the throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp that beats upon the high shore of this world. Not all these, laid in bed majestical, can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, who with a body fill'd and vacant mind gets him to rest, cramm'd with distressful bread; never sees horrid night, the child of hell.
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05/03/2025 alle ore 07:37
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