He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.

T is the will that makes the action good or ill.

Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end.

Here a little child I stand, Heaving up my either hand; Cold as paddocks though they be, Here I lift them up to Thee, for a benison to fall on our meat, and on us all. Amen.

Seldom comes Glory till a man be dead.

Men are suspicious; prone to discontent: Subjects still loathe the present Government.

He loves his bonds who, when the first are broke, Submits his neck into a second yoke.