Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.
Who knows if Shakespeare might not have thought less if he had read more?
Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.
There buds the promise of celestial worth.
A foe to God ne'er was true friend to man, Some sinister intent taints all he does.
Where Nature's end of language is declin'd, And men talk only to conceal the mind.