How oft, in nations gone corrupt, And by their own devices brought down to servitude, That man chooses bondage before liberty. Bondage with ease before strenuous liberty.

Moping melancholy And moon-struck madness.

Only this I know, That one celestial father gives to all.

What wisdom can there be to choose, what continence to forbear without the knowledge of evil? He that can apprehend and consider vice with all her baits and seeming pleasures, and yet abstain, and yet distinguish, and yet prefer that which is truly better, he is the true wayfaring Christian.

Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end.

It were a journey like the path to heaven, To help you find them.

Goodness thinks no ill Where no ill seems.