My latest found, Heaven's last, best gift, my ever new delight!

First Moloch, horrid king, besmirched in blood, Of Human sacrifice, and parent's tears, Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud, Their childrens' cries unheard, that passed through fire, To his grim idol.

Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.

Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind.

The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.

License they mean when they cry Liberty; For who loves that, must first be wise and good.

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