Be not the first by whom the new are tried, Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
A perfect woman's but a softer man.
Heaven from all creatures hides the book of Fate.
Nature and nature's laws lay hid in the night. God said, Let Newton be! and all was light!
Extremes in nature equal ends produce; In man they join to some mysterious use.
What woeful stuff this madrigal would be, In some starved hackney sonneteer, or me! But let a lord once own the happy lines, How the wit brightens! how the style refines!