A mighty English king had four wives. Above all, he adored his youngest and most pampered fourth wife, lavishing her with fine silks, jewels, and endless affection.
His third wife, a woman of breathtaking beauty, held a special place in his heart as well. On royal visits abroad, he insisted she accompany him, eager to display her radiance—though a gnawing fear lingered that one day she might abandon him for another.
The second wife was shrewd and wise, his most trusted confidante. In moments of crisis, he turned to her unwavering patience and counsel, relying on her to guide him through storms that threatened to shake his kingdom.
The first wife, the eldest, had been passed to him from his late elder brother. Devoted, she worked tirelessly to uphold his wealth and the prosperity of his realm. Yet the king felt nothing for her, indifferent even to her deepest love.
Then came the day the king fell gravely ill. Staring death in the face, he thought, *I have four wives, yet when I die, I will be alone.* Turning to his beloved fourth wife, he pleaded, *”I cherished you most. Gave you everything. Will you follow me into the grave?”*
*”Don’t be absurd!”* she snapped, vanishing without another word. Her dismissal struck like a blade to his heart.
Grief-stricken, he asked his third wife, *”You were my pride. Will you join me in death?”*
*”Never,”* she laughed. *”Life is too sweet. I shall marry again!”*
His anguish deepened—an ache unlike any before. Desperate, he addressed his second wife. *”You were my rock. Will you stand by me even now?”*
*”I cannot,”* she admitted softly. *”But I shall see you buried with honor.”*
Her refusal shattered him. Then came a voice, frail yet resolute: *”I will go with you—wherever you must tread.”*
The king turned to see his first wife, gaunt with sorrow. Stunned, he whispered, *”I should have treasured you while I could.”*
In truth, all men have these four wives:
The fourth is the body—no matter what care we lavish upon it, it deserts us in death.
The third is wealth and status—left behind for others when we depart.
The second is family—who may walk us to the grave, but no further.
And the first is the soul, too often neglected in pursuit of power and pleasure.
