Wednesday, September 23, 2009


matched with an aged wife, i mete and dole unequal laws unto a savage race that hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.

this labor, by slow prudence to make mild a rugged people, and through soft degrees subdue them to the useful and the good.

death closes all; but something ere the end, some work of noble note, may yet be done, not unbecoming men that strove with gods.

come, my friends, 'tis not too late to seek a newer world. push off, and sitting well in order smite the sounding furrows; for my purpose holds to sail beyond the sunset, and the baths of all the western stars, until i die.

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