Society and the World

Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues: be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim’st at be thy country’s, Thy God’s, and truth’s; then if thou fall’st, O Cromwell! Thou fall’st a blessed martyr!

Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition: By that sin fell the angels.

Heaven is above all yet; there sits a judge That no king can corrupt.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot That it do singe yourself.

The force of his own merit makes his way.

No man’s pie is freed From his ambitious finger.

Do not give dalliance Too much the rein.

Flout ’em, and scout ’em; and scout ’em, and flout ’em; Thought is free. 59

I’ the commonwealth I would by contraries Execute all things; for no kind of traffic Would I admit; no name of magistrate; Letters should not be known; riches, poverty, And use of service, none; contract, succession, Bourn, bound of land, tilth, vineyard, none; No use of metal, corn, or wine, or oil; No occupation; all men idle, all; And women too, but innocent and pure. 58

I [Ariel] will be correspondent to command, And do my spiriting gently.

It is a heretic that makes the fire, Not she which burns in ’t.

The silence often of pure innocence Persuades when speaking fails.

Poor soul, the center of my sinful earth.

That is my home of love: if I have rang’d, Like him that travels, I return again.

And art made tongue-tied by authority.

And art made tongue-tied by authority.

And simple truth miscall’d simplicity, And captive good attending captain ill.

For nimble thought can jump both sea and land.

Roses have thorns, and silver fountains mud; Clouds and eclipses stain both moon and sun, And loathsome canker lives in sweetest bud. All men make faults.

The painful warrior famoused for fight, After a thousand victories, once foil’d, Is from the books of honor razed quite, And all the rest forgot for which he toil’d.

Few love to hear the sins they love to act.

His nature is too noble for the world: He would not flatter Neptune for his trident, Or Jove for ’s power to thunder. His heart’s his mouth: What his breast forges, that his tongue must vent. 52

What is the city but the people?

What is the city but the people?