...the Poet, He Nothing Affirmeth, And Therefore

Weigh Not So Much What Men Assert, As What They Prove. Truth Is Simple And Naked, And Needs Not Invention To Apparel Her Comeliness.

My True-love Hath My Heart, And I Have His, By Just Exchange, One For The Other Given; I Hold His Dear, And Mine He Cannot Miss, There Never Was A Better Bargain Driven.

Music, I Say, The Most Divine Striker Of The Senses.

Come Sleep! Oh Sleep, The Certain Knot Of Peace, The Baiting-place Of Wit, The Balm Of Woe, The Poor Man's Wealth, The Prisoner's Release, The Indifferent Judge Between The High And Low.

Happiness Is A Sunbeam, Which May Pass Though A Thousand Bosoms Without Losing A Particle Of Its Original Ray.