Never durst poet touch a pen to write Until his ink were temper'd with Love's sighs.
Why are our bodies soft, and weak, and smooth But that our soft conditions and our hearts Should well agree with our external parts?
Courage mounteth with occasion.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
Ay, Much is the force of heaven-bred poesy.
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.