Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection; and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies; the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.

My love's a noble madness.

To so perverse a sex all grace is vain.

Ye moon and stars, bear witness to the truth.

And plenty makes us poor.

But love's a malady without a cure.

Joy rul'd the day, and Love the night.