All Men Would Be Tyrants

Pride, The First Peer And President Of Hell.

Now, Said I Aloud, My Dear Father's Words Are Come To Pass: God's Justice Has Overtaken Me, And I Have None To Help Or Hear Me: I Rejected The Voice Of Providence.

So Possible Is It For Us To Roll Ourselves Up In Wickedness, Till We Grow Invulnerable By Conscience; And That Sentinel, Once Dozed, Sleeps Fast, Not To Be Awakened While The Tide Of Pleasure Continues To Flow Or Till Something Dark And Dreadful Brings Us To Ourselves Again.

I Know Not What To Call This, Nor Will I Urge That It Is A Secret, Overruling Decree, That Hurries Us On To Be The Instruments Of Our Own Destruction, Even Though It Be Before Us, And That We Rush Upon It With Our Eyes Open.

As Covetousness Is The Root Of All Evil, So Poverty Is The Worst Of All Snares.