Many Might Go To Heaven

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 .

Court A Mistress, She Denies You; Let Her Alone, She Will Court You.

Where It Concerns Himself, Who's Angry At A Slander, Makes It True.

The Poet Is The Nearest Borderer Upon The Orator.

Passions Are Spiritual Rebels And Raise Sedition Against The Understanding.