Fortune, that with malicious joyDoes man her slave oppress,Proud of her office to destroy,Is seldom pleasd to bless.
Accurst ambition, how dearly I have bought you.
Nor is the people's judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
From Harmony, from heav'nly Harmony. This universal Frame began.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.