Chapter III

If we would to the World's distempered Mind
Impute the Rage which there we find,
We might, even in the midst of all our Foes
Enjoy and feel a sweet Repose,
Might pity all the Griefs we see,
Anointing every Malady
With precious Oil and Balm;
And while ourselves are calm, our Art improve
To rescue them and show our Love.