Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.

But whither am I strayed? I need not raise Trophies to thee from other men's dispraise; Nor is thy fame on lesser ruins built; Nor needs thy juster title the foul guilt Of Eastern kings, who, to secure their reign, Must have their brothers, sons, and kindred slain.

Search not to find things too deeply hid; Nor try to know things whose knowledge is forbid.

Uncertain ways unsafest are, and doubt a greater mischief than despair.

Poetry is of so subtle a spirit, that in the pouring out of one language into another it will evaporate.

Actions of the last age are like almanacs of the last year.

Whatsoever is worthy of their love is worth their anger.