But what more oft in Nations grown corrupt, And by thir vices brought to servitude, Than to love Bondage more than Liberty, Bondage with ease than strenuous liberty;

He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.

The happy place Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy -- Rather inflames thy torment, representing Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable; So never more in Hell than when in Heaven.

A grateful mind by owing owes not, but still pays, at once indebted and discharged; what burden then?

While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, Between us two let there be peace, both joining, As joined in injuries, and enmity Against a foe by doom express assigned us, That cruel serpent.

From morn to noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, a summer's day; and with the setting sun dropped from the zenith like a falling star.

And what is faith, love, virtue unassay'd alone, without exterior help sustained?

Thus it shall befall Him, who to worth in women over-trusting, Lets her will rule: restraint she will not brook; And left to herself, if evil thence ensue She first his weak indulgence will accuse.

Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more.