Fear of change perplexes monarchs.
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise?-thus leave Thee, native soil, these happy walks and shades?
Who, as they sung, would take the prison'd soul And lap it in Elysium.
Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely according to conscience, above all liberties.
Tower'd cities please us then, And the busy hum of men.
Solitude is sometimes the best society.