At this: Kings act the part of sentinels.
Instead of pikes, a scepter they must bear.
When they have strutted 'round their little day,
Death comes—the corporal of kings—and puts
Another scepter-bearer in their place,
Speaking the password which God sends, and which
Is clemency.
THE KING.
No, it is justice. Ah,
Two falconers! It is a frightful loss!
Still, they must die.
L'ANGELY.
As you must die, and I.
Or big or little, death has appetite
For all. But though they've not much room,
The dead sleep well. The Cardinal annoys
And wearies you. Wait, sire! A day, a month,
A year; when we have played as long as needful—
I, my own part of fool; you, king; and he,
The master—we will go to sleep. No matter
How proud or great we are, no one shall have
More than six feet of territory there.
Look! how they bear his lordly litter now!
THE KING.
Yes, life is dark; the tomb alone is bright.
If you were not at hand to cheer me up—
L'ANGELY.
Alas! I came to-day to say farewell.
THE KING.