Un-thread the rude eye of rebellion, and welcome home again discarded faith.
And nothing is, but what is not.
And be these juggling friends no more believ'd, That palter with us in a double sense; That keep the word of promise to our ear And break it to our hope.
True hope is swift, and flies with swallow's wings.
They are hare-brain'd slaves.
Such thanks as fits a king's remembrance.