'tis Better To Be Vile Than Vile

Scorn, At First, Makes After-love The More.

How Poor Are They That Have Have Not Patients.

The Poet's Eye, In A Fine Frenzy Rolling, Doth Glance From Heaven To Earth, From Earth To Heaven; And As Imagination Bodies Forth The Forms Of Things Unknown, The Poet's Pen Turns Them To Shape, And Gives To Airy Nothing A Local Habitation And A Name; Such Tricks Hath Strong Imagination.

I, Thus Neglecting Worldly Ends, All Dedicated To Closeness And The Bettering Of My Mind.

I Do Not Seek To Quench Your Love's Hot Fire, But Qualify The Fire's Extreme Rage, Lest It Should Burn Above The Bounds Of Reason.