For Heaven delights not in us, when we do That to another, which ourselves disdain. Judge others, as thou would'st be judg'd again; And do but as thou wouldst be done unto. For, sooth to say (in reason), we deserve To have the selfsame measure that we serve." What right had our ambitious ancestors (Ignobly issued from the cart and plough) To enter Asia? What, were they the heirs To Persia or the Medes, first monarchies? What interest had they to Africa? To Gaul or Spain? Or what did Neptune owe us Within the bounds of farther Britainy? Are we not thieves and robbers of those realms, That ow'd us nothing but revenge for wrongs? What toucheth us the treasure or the hopes, The lives or liberties, of all those nations, Whom we by force have held in servitude; Whose mournful cries and shrieks to heaven ascend, Importuning both vengeance and defence Against this city, rich of violence? "'Tis not enough (alas) our power t' extend, Or overrun the world from east to west, Or that our hands the earth can comprehend, Or that we proudly do, what like us best.[344] He lives more quietly, whose rest is made, And can with reason chasten his desire, Than he that blindly toileth for a shade, And is with others' empire set on fire. Our bliss consists not in possessions, But in commanding our affections; In virtue's choice, and vice's needful chace Far from our hearts, for staining of our face." CHORUS. Upon thy back (where Misery doth sit), O Rome, the heavens with their wrathful hand Revenge the crimes thy fathers did commit. But if (their farther fury to withstand, Which o'er thy walls thy wrack sits menacing) Thou dost not seek to calm heaven's ireful king, A farther plague will pester all the land. "The wrath of heaven, (though urg'd) we see, is slow In punishing the evils we have done: For what the father hath deserv'd we know, Is spared in him and punish'd in the son. But to forgive the apter that they be, They are the more displeased, when they see That we continue our offence begun." "Then from her loathsome cave doth Plague repair, That breathes her heavy poisons down to hell; Which with their noisome fall corrupt the air, Or meagre Famine, which the weak foretell, Or bloody War (of other woes the worst) Which where it lights doth show the land accurs'd, And ne'er did good, wherever it befell." War, that hath sought th' Ausonian fame to rear, In warlike Emony[345] (now grown so great With soldiers' bodies that were buried there), Which yet to sack us toils in bloody sweat: T' enlarge the bounds of conquering Thessaly, Through murder, discord, wrath, and enmity, Even to the peaceful Indian's pearled seat.