Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.

The pious and just honoring of ourselves may be thought the fountainhead from whence every laudable and worthy enterprise issues forth.

The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty.

I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds; The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.

Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment?

The mind is its own place, and in itself, can make heaven of Hell, and a hell of Heaven.

Accuse not nature: she hath done her part; Do thou but thine.