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.
Virtue's a stronger guard than brass.
With wisdom fraught; not such as books, but such as practice taught.
Ingenious to their ruin, every age improves the art and instruments of rage.
Under the tropic is our language spoke, And part of Flanders hath receiv'd our yoke.