1:25:08
No, thou proud dream,
1:25:12
that playest so subtly
with a king's repose.
1:25:18
I am a king that find thee,
1:25:21
and I know...
1:25:26
'tis not the balm,
the scepter and the ball,
1:25:30
the sword, the mace,
the crown imperial,
1:25:34
the intertissued robe
of gold and pearl,
1:25:37
the farced title
running fore the king,
1:25:40
the throne he sits on...
1:25:44
nor the tide of pomp...
1:25:46
that beats upon the high shore
of this world.
1:25:50
No, not all these,
thrice-gorgeous ceremony,
1:25:55
not all these,
laid in bed majestical,
1:25:59
can sleep so soundly...
1:26:03
as the wretched slave,
1:26:06
Who, with a body filled and
vacant mind, gets him to rest,
1:26:11
crammed with
distressful bread,
1:26:13
never sees horrid night,
the child of hell,
1:26:16
but like a lackey,
from the rise to the set...
1:26:18
sweats in the eye
of Phoebus...
1:26:21
and all night sleeps...
1:26:24
in Elysium.
1:26:27
Next day after dawn, doth rise
and help Hyperion to his horse...
1:26:31
and follows so
the ever-running year...
1:26:34
with profitable labor
to his grave.
1:26:37
And but for ceremony...
1:26:43
such a wretch,
1:26:45
winding up days of toil...
1:26:48
and nights with sleep...
1:26:53
had the forehand
and vantage...
1:26:59
of a king.