Henry VIII.
What! check the spirit in its earliest flight?
The new-fledged eaglet dash to earth again?
Wrap the just-rising sun in blackest night?
Hurl yon bright star from its empyrean?
Curs’d be the mind whence such a thought e’er sprung,
Yea, doubly curs’d the vile and slavish tongue
Which spake so mean a thought!
No, let that spirit rise,
Until the heaven of heavens before it lies,