Thick as autumnal leaves that strow the brooks In Vallombrosa, where th' Etrurian shades High over-arch'd imbower.

Just are the ways of God, And justifiable to men; Unless there be who think not God at all.

By this time, like one who had set out on his way by night, and travelled through a region of smooth or idle dreams, our history now arrives on the confines, where daylight and truth meet us with a clear dawn, representing to our view, though at a far distance, true colours and shapes.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

Her virtue and the conscience of her worth, That would be woo'd, and not unsought be won.

Our state cannot be severed, we are one, One flesh; to lose thee were to lose myself.

Let us go forth and resolutely dare with sweat of brow to toil our little day.