Imagining is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.

But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.

New vows to plight, and plighted vows to break.

Zeal, the blind conductor of the will.

They live too long who happiness outlive.

Drinking is the soldier's pleasure.

The World to Bacon does not only owe it's present knowledge, but its future too.