Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.
I swear again, I would not be a queen For all the world.
Princes have but their titles for their glories, An outward honor for an inward toil; And, for unfelt imaginations, They often feel a world of restless cares.
Is this government of Britain's Isle, and this the royalty of Albion's King?
The gates of monarchs Are arched so high that giants may jet through And keep their impious turbans on without Good morrow to the sun.
A substitute shines brightly as a king Until a king be by, and then his state Empties itself, as dot an inland brook Into the main of waters.
The king-becoming graces, As justice, verity, temp'rance, stableness, Bounty, perseverance, mercy, lowliness, Devotion, patience, courage, fortitude, I have no relish of them, but abound In the division of each several crime, Acting in many ways.
And fearless minds climb soonest unto crowns.
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