The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon

Ambition, Like A Torrent, Ne'er Looks Back; And Is A Swelling, And The Last Affection A High Mind Can Put Off; Being Both A Rebel Unto The Soul And Reason, And Enforceth All Laws, All Conscience, Treads Upon Religion, And Offereth Violence To Nature's Self.

Truth Is Man's Proper Good, And The Only Immortal Thing Was Given To Our Mortality To Use.

Tis Not The Wholesome Sharp Mortality, Or Modest Anger Of A Satiric Spirit, That Hurts Or Wounds The Body Of A State, But The Sinister Application Of The Malicious, Ignorant, And Base Interpreter; Who Will Distort And Strain The General Scope And Purpose Of An Author To His Particular And Private Spleen.

Affliction Teacheth A Wicked Person Sometime To Pray; Prosperity Never.

Many Punishments Sometimes, And In Some Cases, As Much Discredit A Prince As Many Funerals A Physician.