Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus's blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.

For mysterious things of faith, rely on the proponent, Heaven's authority.

But love's a malady without a cure.

My love's a noble madness.

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.

Words are but pictures of our thoughts.

But dying is a pleasure / When living is a pain.