God has set labor and rest, as day and night to men successive.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilst the landscape round it measures, Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray, Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.

Ink is the blood of the printing-press.

The spirit of man, which God inspired, cannot together perish with this corporeal clod.

Sabrina fair, Listen where thou art sitting Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave, In twisted braids of lilies knitting The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair.

A short retirement urges a sweet return.

Till old experience do attain To something like prophetic strain.