Tis Man's to explore up and down, inch by inch, with the taper his reason.

grow old with me. the best is yet to be. the last of life for which the first was made.

"With this same key Shakespeare unlocked his heart" once more! Did Shakespeare? If so, the less Shakespeare he!

God is the perfect poet.

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.

We mortals cross the ocean of this world Each in his average cabin of a life; The bests not big, the worst yields elbowroom.

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.