With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout, Confusion worse confounded.

Here the great art lies, to discern in what the law is to be to restraint and punishment, and in what things persuasion only is to work.

God is thy law, thou mine.

In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds On half the nations, and with fear of change Perplexes monarchs.

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise

He who would not be frustrate of his hope to write well hereafter in laudable things ought himself to be a true poem.

Was I deceiv'd, or did a sable cloud Turn forth her silver lining on the night?