Shakspeare says, in King John, it's a curse most
abhorrent,

That 'Slaves take the humours of Kings for a warrant.'
A more useful truth never fell from his pen,

If Kings would apply it like sober-bred men.

The Slaves of your will,
will make your reign, in History,

A misrule of force, folly, taxing, and mystery:
Indulging your wish for
what, with law, 's incompatible,

For the present, they've render'd your crown
not come-at-able;

And the tongues of old women and infancy wag,
With, 'He call'd for his crown—and
they gave him the Bag!'