Whether the thonéd Monarch weareth the crown Which I know not whether to his belongeth Doth he hence the sceptre sway (sceptre sway, sceptre sway)? Seasoneth he justice (he justice, he justice)? Daresay I he doth not Will he then use his sceptre as a wand? Where doth sit my awe? Trieth me conjure Perchance a spell? A reptile, a sullied hound? Is the gentle rain a quality of his? I bethink this fro my thoughts, hitherto, about this I beheld to these words no tongue Are the Monarchs's men his thralls or his servants? Oft I waylay my tongue Those of which are withal by my gnarléd heart not heed'd Or doth the trostle sing with more glee At daybreak than a twilight? Brawl not my imp, nor my cherub, reserve my judgement Crave not the sword when the bodkin fro ere thine is That undiscover'd country, be that Of calamity, be that of joy, be that of apathy Tread not paths of new when those of old are Far by an only single footstep; walk, be it On the left, on the right, be it the one which Straight forward leadeth, the one of correct I have as until now not heed'd any signs of