What will a child learn sooner than a song?

Truths would you teach, or save a sinking land? All fear, none aid you, and few understand.

Dear, damned, distracting town, farewell! Thy fools no more I'll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

To observations which ourselves we make, we grow more partial for th' observer's sake.

And die of nothing but a rage to live.

Nay, fly to altars; there they'll talk you dead; For fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Let fortune do her worst, whatever she makes us lose, so long as she never makes us lose our honesty and our independence.