Misguiding wit hath mask’d in wisdom’s veil,
Pretending what in purpose it abhorr’d.
2.
Peace hath three foes encamped in our breasts;
Ambition, wrath and envy, which subdu’d,
We should not fail to find eternal peace.
’Tis in our pow’r to joy it all at will,
And few there be, but if they will, they may:
But yet even those, who like the name of peace,
Through fond desire repine at peace itself,