The dirty nurse, Experience, in her kind Hath fouled me.

Oh yet we trust that somehow good will be the final goal of ill!

The many fail: the one succeeds.

A simple maiden in her flower, Is worth a hundred coats of arms.

For now the poet cannot die, Nor leave his music as of old, But round him ere he scarce be cold Begins the scandal and the cry.

The Lord let the house of a brute to the soul of a man, And the man said, "Am I your debtor?" And the Lord--"Not yet: but make it as clean as you can, And then I will let you a better.

Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control; these three alone lead one to sovereign power.