Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, That few, but such as cannot write, translate.
When any great design thou dost intend, Think on the means, the manner, and the end.
Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.
Who fears not to do ill fears the name, And free from conscience, is a slave to fame.
You prove but too clearly that seeking to know Is too frequently learning to doubt.
Books should to one of these fours ends conduce, for wisdom, piety, delight, or use.