Beauty Is Nature's Coin, Must Not Be

Neither Prosperity Nor Empire Nor Heaven Can Be Worth Winning At The Price Of A Virulent Temper, Bloody Hands, An Anguished Spirit, And A Vain Hatred Of The Rest Of The World.

A Poet Soaring In The High Reason Of His Fancies, With His Garland And Singing Robes About Him.

Is It Just Or Reasonable, That Most Voices Against The Main End Of Government Should Enslave The Less Number That Would Be Free? More Just It Is, Doubtless, If It Come To Force, That A Less Number Compel A Greater To Retain, Which Can Be No Wrong To Them, Their Liberty, Than That A Greater Number, For The Pleasure Of Their Baseness, Compel A Less Most Injuriously To Be Their Fellow-slaves. They Who Seek Nothing But Their Own Just Liberty, Have Always Right To Win It And To Keep It, Whenever They Have Power, Be The Voices Never So Numerous That Oppose It.

The Work Under Our Labour Grows, Luxurious By Restraint.

Fairy Elves, Whose Midnight Revels By A Forest Side Or Fountain Some Belated Peasant Sees, Or Dreams He Sees, While Overhead The Moon Sits Arbitress.