Two enemies — the same man divided.

These two halves of God, the Pope and the emperor.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart,
Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart;
And deep in one is the bitter root,
And sweet for one is the lifelong flower.

The two extremes appear like man and wife,
Coupled together for the sake of strife.

Oh, happy kings,
Whose thrones are raised in their subjects' hearts.

Luke's iron crown, and Damien's bed of steel.

But now, you are twain, you are cloven apart
Flesh of his flesh, but heart of my heart.

Two souls in one, two hearts into one heart.

It was extraordinary to be in two places at once, doing two different things — extraordinary, but not confusing. He merely had two bodies which were as integrated as his two hands had been.

Already a third and more of England is in the hands of the Pope. There cannot be two temporal sovereigns in one country; either Edward is King or Urban is king. We make our choice. We accept Edward of England and refute Urban of Rome.

The kingliest kings are crowned with thorn.

Sharers of our glorious past, Brothers, must we part at last? Shall we not through good and ill Cleave to one another still? Britain's myriad voices call, 'Sons, be welded each and all, Into one imperial whole, One with Britain, heart and soul! One life, one flag, one fleet, one Throne!' Britons, hold your own!

Both gods knotted the rope of strife and leveling war,
strangling both sides at once by stretching the mighty cable,
never broken, never slipped, that snapped the knees of thousands.

Loyalty to the person of the king was the glue that unified an English kingdom so recently forged from separate peoples.