“Nothing so soon the drooping spirits can raise As praises from the men, whom all men praise.”

It is a hard and nice subject for a man to speak of himself: it grates his own heart to say anything of disparagement, and the reader’s ear to hear anything of praise from him.

Till the whole stream, which stopped him, should be gone, That runs, and as it runs, for ever will run on.

Lukewarmness I account a sin, as great in love as in religion.

Nay, in death’s hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove’s.

May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.

His faith, perhaps, in some nice tenets might Be wrong; his life, I’m sure, was in the right.

Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?

In fields d’or or d’argent; but, if heraldry were guided by reason, a plough in a field arable would be the most noble and ancient arms.”

What a brave privilege is it to be free from all contentions, from all envying or being envied, from receiving or paying all kinds of ceremonies!

Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,

Coy Nature, (which remain’d, though aged grown, A beauteous virgin still, enjoy’d by none, Nor seen unveil’d by anyone),

There is some help for all the defects of fortune; for, if a man cannot attain to the length of his wishes, he may have his remedy by cutting of them shorter.

What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?

I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.

This only grant me, that my means may lie, too low for envy, for contempt to high.

Unbind the charms that in slight fables lie and teach that truth is truest poesy.