For Englishmen are ne'er contented long

Hail, hieroglyphic State machine, Contrived to punish fancy in; Men that are men in thee can feel no pain, And all thy insignificance disdain!

Reason, it is true, is DICTATOR in the Society of Mankind; from her there ought to lie no Appeal; But here we want a Pope in our Philosophy, to be the infallible Judge of what is or is not Reason.

Alas the Church of England! What with Popery on one hand, and schismatics on the other, how has she been crucified between two thieves!

We loved the doctrine for the teacher's sake.

Next, bring some lawyers to thy bar, By innuendo they might all stand there; There let them expiate that guilt, And pay for all that blood their tongues have spilt. These are the mountebanks of state, Who by the sleight of tongues can …

All men would be tyrants if they could.