With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
If its length be not considered a merit, it hath no other.
Illustrious acts high raptures do infuse, And every conqueror creates a muse.
That eagle's fate and mine are one, Which, on the shaft that made him die, Espied a feather of his own, Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.