None weareth the crown, yet all usurp the sceptre;
And perchance some fiercer spirit, of natural nobility of mind,
That needed but the kindness of constraint to have grown up great and good,
Now—the rich harvest of his heart choked by unweeded tares,—
All bold to dare and do, unchecked by wholesome fear,
A scoffer about bigotry and priestcraft, a rebel against government and God,
And standard-bearer of the turbulent, leading on the sons of Belial,
Such an one is king of that small state, head tyrant of the thirty,
Brandishing the torch of discord in his village home:
And the timid Eli of the house, yon humble parish-priest,