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188

Would wax but short ere on the tree

He’d surely hang them; nay, not he,

But those who serve him; wondrous weak

A king would find him should he seek

To match him ’gainst a caitiff wretch

Who standeth begging, palm astretch

For alms! The men who serve him? Nay!

Base lie it were if I should say

‘They serve him,’ for by Heaven, I trow.

Though to his seigniory they bow,

’Tis he serves them; though he defends

Their liberties, his power depends

Upon his servants’ will; if they

Deny their aid to him, away

Goes all his kingly might, and left

Is he, of all he had, bereft:

For not to him belongs of right

The people’s valour, wit, or might,

Their bodies, work, or property;

No single thing of theirs can be

His, for great Nature gave them not

To him, and Fortune’s self no jot

Can give to any man unless

Dame Nature in her bounteousness

Saw fit his life with wealth to leaven.”

“Ah! Madam, by the Lord of heaven!

I beg you teach me then what can

Solely belong to any man.

Can you not show me what may be

One’s own in its entirety?”