Nor Fame I slight, nor her favors call.
Satire's my weapon, but I'm too discreet To run amuck, and tilt at all I meet.
The enormous faith of many made for one.
It is sure the hardest science to forget!
What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
Whoe'er he be That tells my faults, I hate him mortally.