The Black Prince

Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them With deafing clamor in the slippery clouds That with the hurly death itself awakes? Canst thou, O partial sleep, give thy repose To the wet sea-boy in an hour so rude, And, in the calmest and most stillest night, With all appliances and means to boot, Deny it to a king? Then, happy low, lie down. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.