We Cannot Go To Heaven In Featherbeds.

Everywhere Do I Percieve A Certain Conspiracy Of Rich Men Seeking Their Own Advantage Underthat Name And Pretext Of Commonwealth.

Yea, Marry, Now It Is Somewhat, For Now It Is Rhyme; Before, It Was Neither Rhyme Nor Reason.

In Utopia, Where Every Man Has A Right To Everything, They All Know That If Care Is Taken To Keep The Public Stores Full, No Private Man Can Want Anything; For Among Them There Is No Unequal Distribution, So That No Man Is Poor, None In Necessity; And Though No Man Has Anything, Yet They Are All Rich; For What Can Make A Man So Rich As To Lead A Serene And Cheerful Life, Free From Anxieties.

The Things We Pray For, Good Lord, Give Us Grace To Labor For.

Nor Can They Understand Why A Totally Useless Substance Like Gold Should Now, All Over The World, Be Considered Far More Important Than Human Beings, Who Gave It Such Value As It Has, Purely For Their Own Convenience.