War is a trade of kings.
Even kings but play; and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
Kings fight for empires, madmen for applause.
War is the trade of kings.
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
Luxurious kings are to their people lost, They live like drones, upon the public cost.
No king nor nation one moment can retard the appointed hour.
The people have a right supreme To make their kings, for Kings are made for them. All Empire is no more than Pow'r in Trust, Which when resum'd, can be no longer just. Successionm for the general good design'd, In its own wrong a Nation cannot bind.
Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.