Freedom Doth With Degree Dispense.

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

Cares That Have Entered Once In The Breast, Will Have Whole Possession Of The Rest.

Good Men But See Death, The Wicked Taste It.

Soul Of The Age! The Applause, Delight, The Wonder Of Our Stage! My Shakespeare , Rise; I Will Not Lodge Thee By Chaucer Or Spenser , Or Bid Beaumont Lie A Little Further, To Make Thee A Room; Thou Art A Monument, Without A Tomb, And Art Alive Still, While Thy Book Doth Live, And We Have Wits To Read , And Praise To Give .

Let Those That Merely Talk And Never Think, That Live In The Wild Anarchy Of Drink