To A Greedy Eating Horse A Short

Give A Clown Your Finger, And He Will Take Your Hand.

'it's This Accursed Science,' I Cried. 'it's The Very Devil. The Mediaeval Priests And Persecutors Were Right, And The Moderns Are All Wrong. You Tamper With It-and It Offers You Gifts. And Directly You Take Them It Knocks You To Pieces In Some Unexpected Way.'

Who Says That Fictions Only And False Hair Become A Verse? Is There In Truth No Beauty? Is All Good Structure In A Winding Stair?

To Weepe For Joy Is A Kinde Of Manna.

Take Heed Of Foul Dirty Wayes, And Long Sicknesse.