Truth Is Compared In Scripture To A

Cyriack, Whose Grandsire On The Royal Bench Of British Themis, With No Mean Applause Pronounced And In His Volumes Taught Our Laws, Which Others At Their Bar So Often Wrench

Death From Sin No Power Can Separate.

Courtesy Which Oft Is Found In Lowly Sheds, With Smoky Rafters, Than In Tapestry Halls And Courts Of Princes, Where It First Was Named.

By This Time, Like One Who Had Set Out On His Way By Night, And Travelled Through A Region Of Smooth Or Idle Dreams, Our History Now Arrives On The Confines, Where Daylight And Truth Meet Us With A Clear Dawn, Representing To Our View, Though At A Far Distance, True Colours And Shapes.

Knowledge Cannot Defile, Nor Consequently The Books, If The Will And Conscience Be Not Defiled.