While he doth thrust aside the daintiest dish,
Whose hardness doth the peasant’s crust exceed,
Or bolts it down in tremulous haste and fear,
Eyes trained for secret enemies. Who knows?
Some sneak assassin’s steel may strike his heart,
Or some rude bomb may rend the castle’s base
But to attempt his life. God, save the king,
That he may use his throne and sceptre right,
And be not thus the nation’s trembling slave,
But be its strongest power!