The man who pants for ample sway, <br />Must bid his passions all obey; <br />Must bid each wild desire be still, <br />Nor yoke his reason with his will: <br />For though beneath thy haughty brow <br />Warm India's supple sons should bow, <br />Though northern climes confess thy sway, <br />Which erst in frost and freedom lay, <br />If Sorrow pine, or Avarice crave, <br />Bow down and own thyself a slave.<br /><br />Samuel Johnson<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/from-boethius-de-consolatione-philosophiae-book-iii-metre-5/
