Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.
The man who first abused his fellows with swear-words instead of bashing their brains out with a club should be counted among those who laid the foundations of civilization.
Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, That few, but such as cannot write, translate.
Books should to one of these fours ends conduce, for wisdom, piety, delight, or use.
Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.
We are never like angels till our passion dies.