To be angry is to revenge the faults of others on ourselves.
Do good by stealth, and blush to find it fame.
Pretty conceptions, fine metaphors, glittering expressions, and something of a neat cast of verse are properly the dress, gems, or loose ornaments of poetry.
What's fame? a fancy'd life in other's breath. A thing beyond us, even before our death.
One self-approving hour whole years outweighs.
The sound must seem an echo to the sense.