Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter.

Death ready stands to interpose his dart.

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child!

Our torments also may in length of time Become our elements, these piercing fires As soft as now severe, our temper changed Into their temper.

Indu'd With sanctity of reason.

Innocence, Once Lost, Can Never Be Regained. Darkness, Once Gazed Upon, Can Never Be Lost.

Ink is the blood of the printing-press.