Silence Is Only Commendable In A Neat's

As Good Luck Would Have It.

The Jury Passing On The Prisoner's Life May In The Sworn Twelve Have A Thief Or Two Guiltier Than Him They Try.

The Wind-shak'd Surge, With High And Monstrous Main, Seems To Cast Water On The Burning Bear, And Quench The Guards Of The Ever-fixed Pole.

My Crown Is Called Content, A Crown That Seldom Kings Enjoy.

This Blessèd Plot, This Earth, This Realm, This England This Nurse, This Teeming Womb Of Royal Kings, . . . This Land Of Such Dear Souls, This Dear Dear Land.