All Hope Is Lost Of My Reception

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 Limbo Large And Broad, Since Call'd The Paradise Of Fools To Few Unknown.

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

Servant Of God, Well Done! Well Hast Thou Fought The Better Fight, Who Single Hast Maintain'd Against Revolted Multitudes The Cause Of Truth.

Thou Canst Not Touch The Freedom Of My Mind.