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He rules but they doth make his bed
Who serve him closest inside his head.
For few would be by their noses lead
Who in his absence would rule instead.
Yet still those same folk would agree,
Lest disloyalty he may in them see,
Or yet if a communion gave them vent
To wage their treason they'd not relent.
For no colder hearts exist in men
Than those who wish that he was them
And they were him who keeps the helm
That none of them can overwhelm.
Who takes advice from all these men
But signs his name with his own pen?
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