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To th’ active Moon a quick brisk stroke he gave, To Saturn’s string a touch more sore and grave.

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Fill all the Glasses there; for why Should every Creature Drink but I? Why, Man of Morals, tell me why?
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I never had any other desire so strong, and so like covetousness, as that
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To be a husbandman, is but a retreat from the city; to be a philosopher, from the world; or rather, a retreat from the world, as it is man’s, into the world, as it is God’s.
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God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.
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As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal; whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.
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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.
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Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?
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Why to mute fish should’st thou thyself discoverAnd not to me, thy no less silent lover?
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Thus would I double my life’s fading space;For he that runs it well, runs twice his race.
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May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.
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There Daphne’s Lover stopped, and thought it much The very leaves of her to touch: But Harvey, our Apollo, stopp’d not so; Into the Bark and Root he after her did go!
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Who that has reason, and his smell, Would not among roses and jasmin dwell?
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Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,
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And I myself a Catholic will be, So far at least, great saint, to pray to thee. Hail, Bard triumphant! and some care bestow On us, the Poets militant below.
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