Nothing Profits More Than Self-esteem, Grounded On

Alas! What Boots It With Uncessant Care To Tend The Homely Slighted Shepherd's Trade, And Strictly Meditate The Thankless Muse; Were It Not Better Done As Others Use, To Sport With Amaryllis In The Shade, Or With The Tangles Of Neaera's Hair? Fame Is The Spur That The Clear Spirit Doth Raise (that Last Infirmity Of Noble Mind) To Scorn Delights, And Live Laborious Days; But The Fair Guerdon When We Hope To Find, And Think To Burst Out Into Sudden Blaze, Comes The Blind Fury With Th'abhorred Shears, And Slits The Thin-spun Life.

To Adore The Conqueror, Who Now Beholds Cherub And Seraph Rolling In The Flood.

Those Whom Reason Hath Equalled, Force Hath Made Supreme

Vain Wisdom All, And False Philosophy.

Who Overcomes By Force, Hath Overcome But Half His Foe.