Others may use the ocean as their road; Only the English make it their abode.

Poets lose half the praise they should have got, Could it be known what they discreetly blot.

When religion doth with virtue join, it makes a hero like an angel shine.

All human things Of dearest value hang on slender strings.

Happy the innocent whose equal thoughts are free from anguish as they are from faults.

The fear of Hell, or aiming to be blest, Savors too much of private interest. This moved not Moses, nor the zealous Paul, Who for their friends abandoned soul and all.

Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.