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 .
Books are faithful repositories, which may be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they are opened again, will again impart their instruction.
Reader look, not on his picture but his book.
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