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The single and peculiar life is bound,With all the strength and armour of the mind,To keep itself from noyance; but much moreThat spirit upon whose weal depend and restThe lives of many. The cease of majestyDies not alone; but, like a gulf, doth drawWhat's near it with it: it is a massy wheel,Fix'd on the summit of the highest mount,To whose huge spokes ten thousand lesser thingsAre mortised and adjoin'd; which, when it falls,Each small annexment, petty consequence,Attends the boisterous ruin. Never aloneDid the king sigh, but with a general groan.