Money Never Made Any Man Rich, But

Of All Wild Beasts Preserve Me From A Tyrant; And Of All Tame A Flatterer.

Memory, Of All The Powers Of The Mind, Is The Most Delicate And Frail.

How Near To Good Is What Is Fair!

Though I Am Young, And Cannot Tell Either What Death Or Love Is Well, Yet I Have Heard They Both Bear Darts, And Both Do Aim At Human Hearts. And Then Again, I Have Been Told Love Wounds With Heat, As Death With Cold; So That I Fear They Do But Bring Extremes To Touch, And Mean One Thing. As In A Ruin We It Call One Thing To Be Blown Up, Or Fall; Or To Our End Like Way May Have By A Flash Of Lightning, Or A Wave; So Love’s Inflamèd Shaft Or Brand May Kill As Soon As Death’s Cold Hand; Except Love’s Fires The Virtue Have To Fight The Frost Out Of The Grave.

Popular Men, They Must Create Strange Monsters, And Then Quell Them, To Make Their Arts Seem Something.