And out of good still to find means of evil.
The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.
Come to the sunset tree! The day is past and gone; The woodman's axe lies free, And the reaper's work is done.
Danger will wink on opportunity.
Among unequals what society Can sort, what harmony, or true delight?
The conquer'd, also, and enslaved by war, Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose.