en, a second Peter, I stood up before that crowned assembly
and was bold.

'What, I said, is Pharaoh but a noise? How else is Father Abraham but
dusty in his cave? Duke Lot hath a monument less durable than his wicked
wife's; and as for Noe, that great admiral, the waters of oblivion have
him whom the waters of God might not drown. Conquered lies unconquered
Agamemnon; how else lies Julius Caesar? Nabuchodonosor, eater of grass,
what is he? Kings pass, and their royal seat gathereth a little dust.
Anon with a besom of feathers cometh. Time the chamberlain, and scareth
to his hiding-place the lizard on the wall. Think soberly, O ye kings!
how your crowns are but yellow metal, and your purple robes the food of
moths, and the sceptres of your power no better than hedge-twigs for the
driving of rats. Round about your crystal orbs scurry the fleas at play
in the night-time; in a little while the joints of your legs will
grapple the degrees of your thrones with no more zest than an old
bargeman's his greasy poop.

'At this King Philip said Tush, and fidgeted in his chair. He might have
put me out of countenance, but that I saw King Richard clasp his knee
and smile into the rafters, and knew by the peaking of his beard that I
had pleased him.

'Thus by precept, by trope and flower of speech, I gaufred the edges of
my discourse; then turning eastward with a cry, I grasped the pulpit
firmly with one hand, the while I raised the other. Sorrow, I said, is
more enduring than the pride of life, my lords, and to renounce than to
heap riches. Behold the King of Sorrows! Behold the Man beggared! Ai,
ai, my lords! is there to be no end to His sorrows, or shall He be
stripped for ever? Yesterday He put off life itself, and to-day ye bid
Him do away with the price of life. Yesterday He hung upon the Tree; and
to-day ye hear it said, Down with the Tree; let Mahomet kindle his
hearth with it. Let us be done, say you, with dead Lords and wooden
stocks: we are kings, and our stocks golden. It is well said, my lords,
after the fashion this world holds honourable. But I ask, did Job fear
God for nought? But I say, consider the Maccabees. All your broad lands
are not worth the rent of that little garden enclosed, where among
ranked lilies sat Mary singing, God rest Thee, babe, I am Thy mother and
daughter. You wag the head and an enemy dieth. You say, Come up, and
some wretch getteth title to make others wretched. But no power of life
and mem