Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

Still May Syllables Jar With Time, Still May Reason War With Rhyme, Resting Never!

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

If All You Boast Of Your Great Art Be True; Sure, Willing Poverty Lives Most In You.

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

The Burnt Child Dreads The Fire.