Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.
How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!
Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.
Gods, that never change their state, vary oft their love and hate.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.
But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.