Squires of the Night's Body

Yea, yea, yea.  Yada, yada, yada.  There is that, and then there is always this.  One emotion is as valid as another.  And what is all this "feeling" shit, anyway.  It is for simps and feebs.  And we are not simps nor feebs, are we?  No, goddamnit!  We are men and women alone and free.  We have taken charge of our lives and owe nobody nothing.  We will live liberated and die unfettered like our one true hero, no?  Falstaff.  Fuck Hal, fuck Henry.  To thine own self be true.  Right?

My hero, Falstaff, says:

“Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us that are squires of the night’s body be called thieves of the day’s beauty. Let us be Diana’s foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon, and let men say we be men of good government, being governed, as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.”

So he didn't turn out so well. Who does?

When this shit settles out, where do you think we'll be?  

Just back where we started, of course.  Does anyone remember what happens to King Henry?