The liberty of conscience, which above all other things ought to be to all men dearest and most precious.

Thus with the year Seasons return; but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn, Or sight of vernal bloom or summer's rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine; But cloud instead, and ever-during dark Surrounds me; from the cheerful ways of men Cut off, and for the book of knowledge fair Presented with a universal blank Of Nature's works, to me expung'd and raz'd, And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out.

Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.

Long is the way and hard, that out of hell leads up to light.

Nor jealousy Was understood, the injur'd lover's hell.

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.

He touch'd the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay.