Meat, Drink, and Ease can never make any Man Happy that wants his
Liberty. No, nor any Man that has it neither; for we are _never Well,
either with Much or Little_. Whatever we Have, we Want something else,
and so go on Wanting and Craving, till Death takes us off in the Middle
of our Longings. He that’s a Pris’ner, is Troubled that he cannot go
whither he Would; And He that’s at Large, is as much Troubled that he
does not know whither to Go. The One Stands still: and the Other Loses
his Way. Now ’tis not Necessity, but Opinion that makes People Miserable,
and when we come once to be _Fancy-Sick_, there’s _No Cure_ for’t. A Man
may have his Heels at Liberty, and yet be a Slave to Impotent Affections,
and Troubled Thoughts. But This is not, upon any Terms to Undervalue
the Blessings of a Natural Freedom; and the _Goldfinch_ was undoubtedly
in the Right, when he was once out of the Cage, not to be Whistled back
again, if it had not been that he carry’d his Snare along with him.