"If thou'lt be rul'd, to th' gods thy fortunes trust, Their thoughts are wise, their dispensations just. What best may profit or delight they know, And real good, for fancied bliss, bestow; With eyes of pity, they our frailties scan, More dear to them, than to himself, is man;"
Endroit: Chapter XII. Apology For Raimond Sebond. · ¶2740 Licence: Public domain · Source Le texte est donné tel que dans l'édition, sans retouche.