Hell Itself Must Yield To Industry.

Our Whole Life Is Like A Play.

If Men Will Impartially, And Not Asquint, Look Toward The Offices And Function Of A Poet, They Will Easily Conclude To Themselves The Impossibility Of Any Man's Being A Good Poet Without First Being A Good Man.

If I Freely May Discover What Should Please Me In My Lover, I Would Have Her Fair And Witty, Savouring More Of Court Than City; A Little Proud, But Full Of Pity; Light And Humorous In Her Toying, Oft Building Hopes, And Soon Destroying, Long, But Sweet In The Enjoying; Neither Too Easy Nor To Hard; All Extremes I Would Have Barr'd.

Whosoever Loves Not Picture Is Injurious To Truth, And All The Wisdom Of Poetry. Picture Is The Invention Of Heaven, The Most Ancient And Most Akin To Nature. It Is Itself A Silent Work, And Always One And The Same Habit.

Tis No Sin Love's Fruits To Steal; But The Sweet Thefts To Reveal; To Be Taken, To Be Seen, These Have Crimes Accounted Been.