“I have no name, no title,— / No, not that name was given me at the font,— / But ’tis usurp’d:— Alack the heavy day, / That I have worn so many winters out, / And know not now what name to call myself!”

“Alack, why am I sent for to a king, / Before I have shook off the regal thoughts / Wherewith I reign’d? I hardly yet have learn’d / To insinuate, flatter, bow, and bend my knee.”

“Still my griefs are mine. / You may my glories and my state depose, / But not my griefs; still am I king of those.”

“Am I both priest and clerk? Well then, amen. / God save the King! although I be not he; / And yet, amen, if heaven do think him me.”