Imperfection means perfection hid.
What's the earth With all its art, verse, music, worth — Compared with love, found, gained, and kept?
'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.
The aim, if reached or not, makes great the life: Try to be Shakespeare, leave the rest to fate!
Who knows but the world may end tonight
Though Rome's gross yoke Drops off, no more to be endured, Her teaching is not so obscured By errors and perversities, That no truth shines athwart the lies.