SONNET.
SONNET.
You say we love not freedom, honoured friend;
Yea, doubtless, we can lend to scheme like yours
Small love. Yet not for this—that it assures
Too much to man—this would not me offend:
But for I know that all such schemes will end
With leaving him too little,—will deprive
Of that free energy by which we live:
For of such plots the final act attend—
See them who loathed the very name of king,
Emulous in slavery, bow their souls before
The new-coined title of some meaner thing
Than ever crown of king or emperor wore;
For such in God’s and Nature’s righteousness,
The weakness which avenges all excess.
Yea, doubtless, we can lend to scheme like yours
Small love. Yet not for this—that it assures
Too much to man—this would not me offend:
But for I know that all such schemes will end
With leaving him too little,—will deprive
Of that free energy by which we live:
For of such plots the final act attend—
See them who loathed the very name of king,
Emulous in slavery, bow their souls before
The new-coined title of some meaner thing
Than ever crown of king or emperor wore;
For such in God’s and Nature’s righteousness,
The weakness which avenges all excess.