These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!

Anarchy is the sure consequence of tyranny; for no power that is not limited by laws can ever be protected by them.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

So shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign, Under her own weight groaning.

Earth felt the wound; and Nature from her seat, Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe That all was lost.

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round, As one great furnace, flamed; yet from those flames No light, but rather darkness visible Serv'd only to discover sights of woe, Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, where peace And rest can never dwell, hope never comes That comes to all; but torture without end.

Seas wept from our deep sorrows.