Nor Aught So Good But Strained From

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

The Lunatic, The Lover, And The Poet, Are Of Imagination All Compact.

All Lovers Swear More Performance Than They Are Able, And Yet Reserve An Ability That They Never Perform; Vowing More Than The Perfection Of Ten, And Discharging Less Than The Tenth Part Of One.

And Flights Of Angels Sing Thee To Thy Rest!

And Writers Say, As The Most Forward Bud Is Eaten By The Canker Ere It Blow, Even So By Love The Young And Tender Wit Is Turn'd To Folly, Blasting In The Bud, Losing His Verdure Even In The Prime, And All The Fair Effects Of Future Hopes.