Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .

Aristotle Was The First Accurate Critic And Truest Judge Nay, The Greatest Philosopher The World Ever Had; For He Noted The Vices Of All Knowledges, In All Creatures, And Out Of Many Men's Perfections In A Science He Formed Still One Art.

Hell Itself Must Yield To Industry.

Tell Troth And Shame The Devil.

Nor For My Peace Will I Go Far, As Wanderers Do, That Still Do Roam, But Make My Strengths, Such As They Are, Here In My Bosom, And At Home.