Temper justice with mercy.

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.

Beholding the bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful studies.

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

The spirits perverse with easy intercourse pass to and fro, to tempt or punish mortals.

You can make hell out of heaven and heaven out of hell. It's all in the mind.

His words, like so many nimble and airy servitors, trip about him at command. Ibid.