The Stones And Trees, Insensible To Time,

Satan, That Great Angler, Hath His Sundry Baits For Sundry Tempers Of Men, Which They All Catch Greedily At, But Few Perceive The Hook Till It Be Too Late.

Authority Without Wisdom Is Like A Heavy Ax Without An Edge -- Fitter To Bruise Than Polish.

Wickedness Comes To Its Height By Degrees. He That Dares Say Of A Less Sin, Is It Not A Little One? Will Ere Long Say Of A Greater, Tush, God Regards It Not!

O Time The Fatal Wrack Of Mortal Things, That Draws Oblivion's Curtains Over Kings; Their Sumptuous Monuments, Men Know Them Not, Their Names Without A Record Are Forgot, Their Parts, Their Ports, Their Pomps All Laid In Th' Dust Nor Wit Nor Gold, Nor Buildings Scape Time's Rust; But He Whose Name Is Graved In The White Stone Shall Last And Shine When All Of These Are Gone.

To Sing Of Wars, Of Captains, And Of Kings/of Cities Founded, Common-wealths Begun/for My Mean Pen Are Too Superior Things.