Women are like the arts, forced unto none, Open to all searchers, unprized, if unknown.

To an incompetent judge I must not lie, but I may be silent; to a competent I must answer.

Reason is our soul's left hand, Faith her right, By these we reach divinity

I neglect God and his angles for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

Friends are ourselves.

True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore ; this is the second of our reign.

Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.