The sun to me is dark And silent as the moon, When she deserts the night Hid in her vacant interlunar cave.

Solitude is sometimes the best society.

For books are as meats and viands are; some of good, some of evil sub-stance.

Such sights as youthful poets dream On summer eves by haunted stream. Then to the well-trod stage anon, If Jonson's learned sock be on, Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, Warble his native wood-notes wild.

I will point ye out the right path of a virtuous and noble Education; laborious indeed at first ascent, but else so smooth, so green, so full of goodly prospect, and melodious sounds on every side, that the harp of Orpheus was not more charming.

Death Grinn'd horrible a ghastly smile, to hear His famine should be fill'd.

Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do.