We have no redress. If we get out of our beds and
creep upon them while they are asleep--they never are--and take out our
little chisels and chop off their horribly stupid little heads, we shall
be put in prison and Mr Justice Darling will make a horribly stupid
little joke about us. There is only one thing to do. We must make up our
minds that we have to combine in our single person the scholar and the
amateur; we cannot trust these gentlemen.
And, indeed, they have been up to their little games elsewhere in _King
John_. They do not like the reply of the citizens of Angiers to the
summons of the rival kings:--
'A greater powre than We denies all this,
And till it be undoubted, we do locke
Our former scruple in our strong-barr'd gates;
Kings of our feare, untill our feares resolu'd
Be by some certaine king, purg'd and depos'd.'
Admirable sense, excellent poetry. But no! We must not have it. Instead
we are given 'King'd of our fears' ('Globe') or 'Kings of ourselves'
('Oxford'). Bad sense, bad poetry.
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