The chain that's fixed to the throne of Jove, On which the fabric of our world depends, One link dissolved, the whole creation ends.

And keeps the palace of the soul.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

But virtue too, as well as vice, is clad in flesh and blood.

The seas are quiet when the winds give o'er; So calm are we when passions are no more!

How small a part of time they share, That are so wondrous sweet and fair!

If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.