What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice, Of Attic taste?
The nodding horror of whose shady brows Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger.
In those vernal seasons of the year when the air is calm and pleasant, it were an injury and sullenness against nature not to go out and see her riches, and partake in her rejoicing with heaven and earth.
Let not England forget her precedence of teaching nations how to live.
They who have put out the people's eyes reproach them of their blindness.
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.