Who Will Not Judge Him Worthy To

Tis The Common Disease Of All Your Musicians That They Know No Mean, To Be Entreated, Either To Begin Or End.

That Praises Are Without Reason Lavished On The Dead, And That The Honours Due Only To Are Paid To Antiquity, Is A Complaint Likely To Be Always Continued By Those Who, Being Able To Add Nothing To Truth, Hope For Eminence From The Heresies Of Paradox; Or Those Who, Being Forced By Disappointment Upon Consolatory Expedients, Are Willing To Hope From Posterity What The Present Age Refuses, And Flatter Themselves That The Regard Which Is Yet Denied By Envy Will Be At Last Bestowed By Time.

Popular Men, They Must Create Strange Monsters, And Then Quell Them, To Make Their Arts Seem Something.

How Fortune Piles Her Sports When She Begins To Practise Them!

I Have Been At My Book; And Am Now Past The Craggy Paths Of Study, And Come To The Flowery Plains Of Honour And Reputation