But what if it were _safe_ to be _cruel_? Were it not still a sad thing, the very state of such a _government_? A _government_ that bears the image of a _taken city_, where there is nothing but _sorrow_, _trouble_, and _confusion_. Men dare not so much as trust themselves with their friends or with their pleasures. There is not any entertainment so innocent but it affords pretence of crime and danger. People are betrayed at their _tables_ and in their _cups_, and drawn from the very _theatre_ to the _prison_. How horrid a madness is it to be still _raging_ and _killing_; to have the rattling of _chains_ always in our _ears; bloody spectacles_ before our _eyes_; and to carry _terror_ and _dismay_ wherever we go! If we had _lions_ and _serpents_, to rule over us, this would be the manner of their _government_, saving that they agree better among themselves. It passes for a mark of greatness to burn cities, and lay whole kingdoms waste; nor is it for the honor of a prince, to appoint this or that single man to be killed, unless they have whole _troops_, or (sometimes) _legions_, to work upon. But it is not the spoils of _war_ and _bloody trophies_ that make a prince _glorious_, but the _divine power_ of preserving _unity_ and _peace. Ruin_ without _distinction_ is more properly the business of a general _deluge_, or a _conflagration_. Neither does a fierce and inexorable _anger_ become the _supreme magistrate_; “Greatness of mind is always meek and humble; but cruelty is a note and an effect of weakness, and brings down a governor to the level of a competitor.”