And Oft, Though Wisdom Wake, Suspicion Sleeps

Unless An Age Too Late, Or Cold Climate, Or Years, Damp My Intended Wing.

For Books Are Not Absolutely Dead Things, But Do Contain A Potency Of Life In Them To Be As Active As That Soul Was Whose Progeny They Are; Nay, They Do Preserve As In A Vial The Purest Efficacy And Extraction Of That Living Intellect That Bred Them.

Let No Man Seek Henceforth To Be Foretold That Shall Befall Him Or His Children.

For Other Things Mild Heav'n A Time Ordains, And Disapproves That Care, Though Wise In Show, That With Superfluous Burden Loads The Day, And When God Sends A Cheerful Hour, Refrains.

Evil On Itself Shall Back Recoil.