Hope allows us to bid farewell to fear.

That practis'd falsehood under saintly shew, Deep malice to conceal, couch'd with revenge.

The stars, that nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps with everlasting oil, give due light to the misled and lonely traveller.

Praise from an enemy smells of craft.

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.

Now I see Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste.

Pleas'd me, long choosing and beginning late.