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I hold myself supremely blest—blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine.

“All hail, sage lady, whom a grateful isle hath blest,” says a photographer to Elizabeth at the end of Season 1, aptly quoting the patriotic doggerel of �y��vlogsworth’s “Ecclesiastical Sonnets.”

When Lord Grosvenor raised a cup carved from Shakespeare’s mulberry tree, treating the “blest relic” as if it were a chalice filled with Communion wine, the eyebrows of the more puritan present were raised high.

“Protection she shall find in me. In me, be ever blest.”

It is “twice blest; it blesseth him that gives and him that takes.”