“My sentence is for open war. Of wiles, More unexpert, I boast not: them let those Contrive who need, or when they need; not now. For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest— 55 Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait The signal to ascend—sit lingering here, Heaven’s fugitives, and for their dwelling-place Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, The prison of his tyranny who reigns
