You prove but too clearly that seeking to know Is too frequently learning to doubt.

When any great design thou dost intend, Think on the means, the manner, and the end.

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.

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.

Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, That few, but such as cannot write, translate.

Whatsoever is worthy of their love is worth their anger.

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