Heaven Prepares Good Men With Crosses; But

The Voice So Sweet, The Words So Fair, As Some Soft Chime Had Stroked The Air; And Though The Sound Had Parted Thence, Still Left An Echo In The Sense.

Spread Yourself Upon His Bosom Publicly, Whose Heart You Would Eat In Private.

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

A Valiant Man Ought Not To Undergo, Or Tempt A Danger, But Worthily, And By Selected Ways, He Undertakes With Reason, Not By Chance. His Valor Is The Salt T' His Other Virtues, They're All Unseason'd Without It.

Give Me A Look, Give Me A Face, That Makes Simplicity A Grace Robes Loosely Flowing, Hair As Free Such Sweet Neglect More Taketh Me Than All The Adulteries Of Art: They Strike Mine Eyes, But Not My Heart.