Shakespeare was naturally learned; he needed not the spectacles of the books to read nature; he looked inward, and found her there.
All the learn’d are cowards by profession.
He who would pry behind the scenes oft sees a counterfeit.
There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
Old age creeps on us ere we think it nigh.
Never was patriot yet, but was a fool.
We by art unteach what Nature taught.
All heiresses are beautiful.
More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store.
The scum that rises upmost, when the nation boils.
Truth is never to be expected from authors whose understanding is warped with enthusiasm.
Bacchus ever fair and young, Drinking joys did first ordain. Bachus’s blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier’s pleasure, Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure- Sweet is pleasure after pain.
And love’s the noblest frailty of the mind.
For secrets are edged tools, And must be kept from children and from fools.
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck.
He look’d in years, yet in his years were seen A youthful vigor, and autumnal green.
Merit challenges envy.
You see through love, and that deludes your sight, As what is straight seems crooked through the water.
An horrible stillness first invades our ear, And in that silence we the tempest fear.
Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven takes care To grant, before we can conclude the prayer: Preventing angels met it half the way, And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.