I hope I know the demands of history upon proportion better than to write it all here.
Briefly then, a second Peter, I stood up before that crowned assembly and was bold.
'What, I said, is Pharaoh but a noise?
How else is Father Abraham but dusty in his cave?
Duke Lot hath a monument less durable than his wicked wife's; and as for Noe, that great admiral, the waters of oblivion have him whom the waters of God might not drown.

Conquered lies unconquered Agamemnon; how else lies Julius Caesar?
Nabuchodonosor, eater of grass, what is he?
Kings pass, and their royal seat gathereth a little dust.
Anon with a besom of feathers cometh.

Time the chamberlain, and scareth to his hiding-place the lizard on the wall.

Think soberly, O ye kings! how your crowns are but yellow metal, and your purple robes the food of moths, and the sceptres of your power no better than hedge-twigs for the driving of rats.

Round about your crystal orbs scurry the fleas at play in the night-time; in a little while the joints of your legs will grapple the degrees of your thrones with no more zest than an old bargeman's his greasy poop.
'At this King Philip said Tush, and fidgeted in his chair.