Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts And eloquence.
O sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams That bring to my remembrance from what state I fell, how glorious once above thy sphere.
Virtue hath no tongue to check vice's pride.
A poet soaring in the high reason of his fancies, with his garland and singing robes about him.
The brazen throat of war.
Among the writers of all ages, some deserve fame, and have it; others neither have nor deserve it; some have it, not deserving it; others, though deserving it, yet totally miss it, or have it not equal to their deserts.