He that hath light within their own breast, may sit in the centre and enjoy bright day.

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls his watery labyrinth, which whoso drinks forgets both joy and grief.

He that has light within his own clear breast May sit in the centre, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeon.

All hope is lost of my reception into grace; what worse? For where no hope is left, is left no fear.

No man who knows aught, can be so stupid to deny that all men naturally were born free.

Incens'd with indignation Satan stood Unterrify'd, and like a comet burn'd That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge In th' arctic sky, and from his horrid hair Shakes pestilence and war.

That virtue therefore which is but a youngling in the contemplation of evil, and knows not the utmost that vice promises to her followers, and rejects it, is but a blank virtue, not a pure; her whiteness is but an excremental whiteness.