Folly Often Goes Beyond Her Bounds, But

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

There Is No Greater Hell Than To Be A Prisoner Of Fear.

My Thoughts And I Were Of Another World.

Great Honours Are Great Burdens, But On Whom They Are Cast With Envy, He Doth Bear Two Loads.

Tis Not The Wholesome Sharp Mortality, Or Modest Anger Of A Satiric Spirit, That Hurts Or Wounds The Body Of A State, But The Sinister Application Of The Malicious, Ignorant, And Base Interpreter; Who Will Distort And Strain The General Scope And Purpose Of An Author To His Particular And Private Spleen.