Cursed be the verse, how well so e'er it flow, That tends to make one worthy man my foe.
Placed on this isthmus of a middle state.
Amusement is the happiness of those who cannot think.
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, But the joint force and full result of all.
No, make me mistress to the man I love; If there be yet another name more free More fond than mistress, make me that to thee!
Therefore they who say our thoughts are not our own because they resemble the Ancients, may as well say our faces are not our own, because they are like our Fathers: And indeed it is very unreasonable, that people should expect us to be Scholars, and yet be angry to find us so.