It strikes! one, two, Three, four, five, six. Enough, enough, dear watch, Thy pulse hath beat enough. Now sleep and rest; Would thou could'st make the time to do so too; I'll wind thee up no more.

Poets are far rarer birds than kings.

We are persons of quality, I assure you, and women of fashion, and come to see and to be seen.

Cares that have entered once in the breast, will have whole possession of the rest.

Reader look, not on his picture but his book.

It is less dishonor to hear imperfectly than to speak imperfectly. The ears are excused; the understanding is not.

All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome