A King

He's a crown'd multitude — his doom is hard;
Servant to each, a slave without reward:
The state's tall roof on which the tempests fall;
The reckoning book that bears the debts of all:
He borrows little, yet is forced to pay
The most usurious interest day by day:
A fetter'd freeman — an imploring lord —
A ruling suppliant — a rhyming word:
A lightning-flash that breaks all bonds asunder,
And spares what yields — a cloud that speaks in thunder:
A sun in darkness and in day that smites,
A plague that on the whirlwind's storm alights:
A lesser God — a rudder to impel,
Targe for ingratitude, and flattery's bell;
In fortune praised — in sorrow shunn'd; his lot
To be adored — deserted — and forgot.
His wish a thousand hurry to fulfill;
His will is law — his law is all men's will:
His breath is choked by sweetly-sounding lies,
And seeming mirth, and cheating flatteries,
Which ever waft truth's accents from his ear;
And if perchance its music he should hear,
They break its force, and through the crooked way
Of their delusions flatter and betray.