Limbs of a dismembered poet.
In trying to be concise I become obscure.
And Tragedy should blush as much to stoop To the low mimic follies of a farce, As a grave matron would to dance with girls.
The cask will long retain the flavour of the wine with which it was first seasoned.
A good resolve will make any port.
"Painters and poets," you say, "have always had an equal license in bold invention." We know; we claim the liberty for ourselves and in turn we give it to others.