When Thou Seest An Eagle, Thou Seest

Those Who Restrain Desire, Do So Because Theirs Is Weak Enough To Be Restrained.

Sweet Babe, In Thy Face Soft Desires I Can Trace, Secret Joys And Secret Smiles, Little Pretty Infant Wiles.

The Ancient Poets Animated All Sensible Objects With Gods Or Geniuses, Calling Them By The Names And Adorning Them With The Properties Of Woods, Rivers, Mountains, Lakes, Cities, Nations, And Whatever Their Enlarged & Numerous Senses Could Perceive.

Everything To Be Imagined Is An Image Of Truth.

If Others Had Not Been Foolish, We Should Be So.