Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
That gloomy outside, like a rusty chest, contains the shoring treasure of a soul resolved and brave.
Thou tyrant, tyrant Jealousy, Thou tyrant of the mind!
Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.
The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.