Kings And Rulers

Here lies our sovereign lord, the king,
    Whose word no man relies on,
Who never said a foolish thing,
    And never did a wise one.

Said by a courtier of Charles, II. To which the King replied, "That is very true, for my words are my own. My actions are my minister's."

Unknown

The identity of this poet is not known. Their works, which are often of significant historical or cultural value, have been attributed to 'Unknown'. This designation is commonly used when the creator of works, ranging from ancient texts to more modern writings, remains anonymous or uncredited. Despite the lack of personal details, the impact and importance of these works endure, offering insight into the eras and cultures from which they originated.

Unknown

Nursery Rhyme. CCCXXXIV. Games.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. XLIX. Tales.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CLXXXV. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

Nursery Rhyme. CCXXXIV. Riddles.

Unknown , Simple Poetry

English

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The Dead King

Who in the Realm to-day lays down dear life for the sake of a land more dear?
And, unconcerned for his own estate, toils till the last grudged sands have run?
Let him approach. It is proven here
Our King asks nothing of any man more than Our King himself has done.

For to him, above all, was Life good, above all he commanded
Her abundance full-handed.
The peculiar treasure of Kings was his for the taking:
All that men come to in dreams he inherited waking:,

His marvel of world-gathered armies, one heart and all races;
His seas 'neath his keels when his war-castles foamed to their places;
The thundering foreshores that answered his heralded landing;
The huge lighted cities adoring, the assemblies upstanding;
The Councils of Kings called in haste to learn how he was mind...

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Epitaph On Charles II

Here lies a great and mighty King,
Whose promise none relied on;
He never said a foolish thing,
Nor ever did a wise one.

John Wilmot

The Old Issue

Here is nothing new nor aught unproven," say the Trumpets,
"Many feet have worn it and the road is old indeed.
"It is the King, the King we schooled aforetime! "
(Trumpets in the marshes-in the eyot at Runnymede!)

"Here is neither haste, nor hate, nor anger," peal the Trumpets,
"Pardon for his penitence or pity for his fall.
"It is the King!" inexorable Trumpets,
(Trumpets round the scaffold af the dawning by Whitehall!)

. . . . . . .


"He hath veiled the Crown And hid the Scepter," warn (he Trum pets,
"He hath changed the fashion of the lies that cloak his will.
"Hard die the Kings, ah hard, dooms hard!" declare the Trumpets,
Trumpets at the gang-plank where the brawling troop-decks fill!

Ancient and Unteachable, abide, abide the Trumpets!
...

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A King And No King.

That prince who may do nothing but what's just,
Rules but by leave, and takes his crown on trust.

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The King Of England

(June 24th, 1902)

In that eclipse of noon when joy was hushed
    Like the bird's song beneath unnatural night,
And Terror's footfall in the darkness crushed
    The rose imperial of our delight,
Then, even then, though no man cried "He comes,"
    And no man turned to greet him passing there,
    With phantom heralds challenging renown
        And silent-throbbing drums
    I saw the King of England, hale and fair,
    Ride out with a great train through London town.

Unarmed he rode, but in his ruddy shield
    The lions bore the dint of many a lance,
And up and down his mantle's azure field
    Were strewn the lilies plucked in famous France.
Before him went with banner floating wide
    The yeoman breed that served his honour best,
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Kings And Tyrants.

'Twixt kings and tyrants there's this difference known:
Kings seek their subjects' good, tyrants their own.

Robert Herrick