Light, seeking light, doth light of light beguile
Give thy thoughts no tongue.
Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win by fearing to attempt.
I had rather be a Kitten, and cry mew, Than one of these same Meeter Ballad-mongers: I had rather heare a Brazen Candlestick turn'd, Or a dry Wheele grate on the Axle-tree, And that would set my teeth nothing an edge, Nothing so much, as mincing Poetrie.
Thus may poor fools Belive false teachers.
Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent.