Nor deem my zeal or factious or mistimed;
For never can true courage dwell with them
Who, playing tricks with conscience, dare not look
At their own vices.
Coleridge, Sibylline Leaves: Fears in Solitude.
’Tis therefore sober and good men are sad
For England’s glory, seeing it wax pale
And sickly.
Cowper, The Task, Book V. 509-511.