Faithful Found Among The Faithless.

Let None Admire That Riches Grow In Hell; That Soil May Best Deserve The Precious Bane.

Peace Hath Her Victories, No Less Renowned Than War.

Rhime Being No Necessary Adjunct Or True Ornament Of Poem Or Good Verse, In Longer Works Especially, But The Invention Of A Barbarous Age, To Set Off Wretched Matter And Lame Meeter...the Troublesom And Modern Bondage Of Rimeing.

. . . For Beauty Stands In The Admiration Only Of Weak Minds Led Captive. Cease To Admire, And All Her Plumes Fall Flat And Shrink Into A Trivial Toy, At Every Sudden Slighting Quite Abash'd.

Sweet Is The Breath Of Morn, Her Rising Sweet, With Charm Of Earliest Birds.