Hence, loathèd Melancholy, Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn, 'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy.

Who can in reason then or right assume monarchy over such as live by right his equals, if in power or splendor less, in freedom equal?

He 's gone, and who knows how he may report Thy words by adding fuel to the flame?

When a king sets himself to bandy against the highest court and residence of all regal powers, he then, in the single person of a man, fights against his own majesty and kingship.

Live while ye may, Yet happy pair.

Back to thy punishment, False fugitive, and to thy speed add wings.

The Saviour who flitted before the patriarchs through the fog of the old dispensation, and who spake in time past to the fathers by the prophets, articulate but unseen, is the same Saviour who, on the open heights of the Gospel, and in the abundant daylight of this New Testament, speaks to us. Still all along it is the same Jesus, and that Bible is from beginning to end all of it, the word of Christ.