Who Casts To Write A Living Line,

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.

Forbear, You Things That Stand Upon The Pinnacles Of State, To Boast Your Slippery Height! When You Do Fall, You Dash Yourselves In Pieces, Ne'er To Rise: And He That Lends You Pity, Is Not Wise.

Art Hath An Enemy Call'd Ignorance .

Sweet Swan Of Avon! What A Sight It Were To See Thee In Our Water Yet Appear.

A Prince Without Letters Is A Pilot Without Eyes. All His Government Is Groping.