Old as I am, for ladies' love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.
But Shakespeare's magic could not copied be; Within that circle none durst walk but he.
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
Some of our philosophizing divines have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out God.
Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.
Truth is never to be expected from authors whose understanding is warped with enthusiasm.