Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heav'n.

Sport, that wrinkled Care derides, And Laughter holding both his sides. Come and trip it as ye go, On the light fantastic toe.

They also serve who only stand and wait.

What needs my Shakespeare for his honour'd bones,- The labour of an age in piled stones? Or that his hallow'd relics should be hid Under a star-y-pointing pyramid? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?

Enjoy your dear wit and gay rhetoric, That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence.

It is lawful and hath been held so through all ages for any one who have the power to call to account a tyrant or wicked king, and after due conviction to depose and put him to death.

Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.