Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
Hushed as midnight silence.
By education most have been misled; So they believe, because they were bred. The priest continues where the nurse began, And thus the child imposes on the man.
Even kings but play; and when their part is done, some other, worse or better, mounts the throne.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.