Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.
Poetry is of so subtle a spirit, that in the pouring out of one language into another it will evaporate.
Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.
Books should to one of these fours ends conduce, for wisdom, piety, delight, or use.
Sure there are poets which did never dream Upon Parnassus, nor did taste the stream Of Helicon; we therefore may suppose Those made not poets, but the poets those.
Tis the most certain sign, the world's accurst That the best things corrupted, are the worst; 'Twas the corrupted Light of knowledge, hurl'd Sin, Death, and Ignorance o'er all the world; That Sun like this (from which our sight we have) Gaz'd on too long, resumes the light he gave.