y lie at the disposal of ordinary men.

What infinite heart's-ease
Must kings neglect that private men enjoy!
And what have kings that privates have not too,
Save ceremony, save general ceremony?
And what art thou, thou idol ceremony?
What kind of god art thou, that suffer'st more
Of mortal griefs than do thy worshippers?
What are thy rents? what are thy comings-in?
O ceremony, show me but thy worth!
What is thy soul of adoration?
Art thou aught else but place, degree, and form,
Creating awe and fear in other men?
Wherein thou art less happy being fear'd
Than they in fearing.
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!
Think'st thou the fiery fever will go out
With titles blown from adulation?
Will it give place to flexure and low bending?
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 balm, the sceptre, and the ball,
The sword, the mace, the crown imperial,
The intertissued robe of gold and pearl,
The farced title running 'fore the king,
The throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp
That beats upon the high shore of this world,--
No, not all these, thrice gorgeous ceremony,
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.

(_Henry V._, IV., i., 253-287.)

Barely distinguishable is the sentiment which finds expression in the
pathetic speech of Henry V.'s father when he vainly seeks that sleep
which thousands of his poorest subjects enjoy. The sleepless king
points to the irony of reclining on the kingly couch beneath canopies
of costly state when sleep refuses to weigh his eyelids down or steep
his senses in forgetfulness. The king is credited with control of
every comfort; but he is denied by nature comforts which she places
freely at command of the humblest. So again does Richard II.
soliloquize on the vain pride which imbues the king, while death all
the time grins at his pomp and keeps his own court within the hollow
crown that rounds the prince's mortal temples. Yet again, to identical
ef