Rather Than Be Less Car'd Not To

Cyriack, Whose Grandsire On The Royal Bench Of British Themis, With No Mean Applause Pronounced And In His Volumes Taught Our Laws, Which Others At Their Bar So Often Wrench

Ah, Why Should All Mankind For One Man's Fault, Be Condemned, If Guiltless?

Heav'nly Love Shall Outdoo Hellish Hate

From Restless Thoughts, That, Like A Deadly Swarm Of Hornets Arm'd, No Sooner Found Alone, But Rush Upon Me Thronging.

None Can Love Freedom Heartily, But Good Men; The Rest Love Not Freedom, But License.