All nature is but art unknown to thee.
With too much quickness ever to be taught; With too much thinking to have common thought.
Education forms the common mind. Just as the twig is bent, the tree's inclined.
Virtue she finds too painful an endeavour, content to dwell in decencies for ever.
Say first, of god above or man below; what can we reason but from what we know.
Envy will merit, as its shade, pursue