Like a dog, he hunts in dreams.
Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own; Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.
All things human change.
I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.
For this is England's greatest son, He that gain'd a hundred fights, And never lost an English gun.