Be silent then, rest satisfied, desine, intuensque in aliorum infortunia solare mentem, comfort thyself with other men's misfortunes, and as the mouldwarp in Aesop told the fox, complaining for want of a tail, and the rest of his companions, tacete, quando me occulis captum videtis, you complain of toys, but I am blind, be quiet.

And what calamity do they endure, that live with those hard taskmasters, in gold mines (like those 30,000 Indian slaves at Potosi, in Peru), tin-mines, lead-mines, stone-quarries, coal-pits, like so many mouldwarps under ground, condemned to the galleys, to perpetual drudgery, hunger, thirst, and stripes, without all hope of delivery?