Ere the blabbing eastern scout, The nice morn, on th' Indian steep From her cabin'd loop-hole peep.

Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall.

Only this I know, That one celestial father gives to all.

And the earth self-balanced on her centre hung.

Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.

Who overcomes by force, hath overcome but half his foe.

Solitude is sometimes best society.