John Dryden,
The Works of John Dryden, now first collected in eighteen volumes…
“ And my own slaves the sovereigns:—'tis resolved. Weak princes flatter, when they want the power To curb their people; tender plants must bend: But when a government is grown to strength, Like some old oak, rough with its armed bark, It yields not to the tug, but only nods, And turns to sullen state.Bend. Then you resolve To implore her pity, and to beg relief?Emp. Death! must I beg the pity of my slave? Must a king beg?—Yes; love's a greater king; A tyrant, nay, a devil, that possesses me: He tunes the organs of my voice, and speaks, Unknown to me, within me ”
