Three poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpass'd; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of Nature could no further go; To make a third, she join'd the former two.

Welcome, thou kind deceiver! Thou best of thieves; who, with an easy key, Dost open life, and, unperceived by us, Even steal us from ourselves.

There is a proud modesty in merit.

He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.

A knock-down argument; 'tis but a word and a blow.

Dead men tell no tales.

Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.