So shall the world go on, To good malignant, to bad men benign, Under her own weight groaning.

My mansion is, where those immortal shapes Of bright aerial spirits live insphered In regions mild of calm and serene air, Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot Which men call Earth.

Who shall silence all the airs and madrigals that whisper softness in chambers?

What is dark within me, illumine.

Though all the winds of doctrine were let loose to play upon the earth, so Truth be in the field, we do injuriously by licensing and prohibiting to misdoubt her strength. Let her and Falsehood grapple; who ever knew Truth put to the worse, in a free and open encounter.

Calm of mind, all passion spent.

Faithful found among the faithless.