For what is worth in anything But so much money as 't will bring?
With books and money plac'd for show Like nest-eggs to make clients lay, And for his false opinion pay.
A skilful leech is better far Than half an hundred men of war, So he appear'd; and by his skill, No less than dint of sword, cou'd kill.
There 's but the twinkling of a star Between a man of peace and war.
I am not now in fortune's power: He that is down can fall no lower.
And force them, though it was in spite Of Nature and their stars, to write.
With mortal crisis doth portend My days to appropinque an end.
Cheer'd up himself with ends of verse And sayings of philosophers.
Ay me! what perils do environ The man that meddles with cold iron!
He that imposes an oath makes it, Not he that for convenience takes it; Then how can any man be said To break an oath he never made?
This Light inspires, and plays upon The nose of Saint like Bag-pipe drone, And speaks through hollow empty Soul, As through a Trunk, or whisp'ring hole, Such language as no mortal Ear But spiritual Eve-droppers can hear.
As men of inward light are wont To turn their optics in upon 't.
Love in your hearts as idly burns As fire in antique Roman urns.
Love is a boy by poets styl'd; Then spare the rod and spoil the child.
They who study mathematiks only to fix their minds, and render them the steadyer to apply to all other things, as there are many who profess to do, are as wise as those who think by rowing boats, to learn to swim.