The World Knows Only Two, That's Rome

In Small Proportions We Just Beauties See; And In Short Measures, Life May Perfect Be.

Art Hath An Enemy Call'd Ignorance .

You Are Not Now To Think What's Best To Do, As In Beginnings, But What Must Be Done, Being Thus Enter'd; And Slip No Advantage That May Secure You. Let Them Call It Mischief; When It Is Past, And Prosper'd , 'twill Be Virtue.

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

Were Guilt Is, Rage And Courage Doth Abound.