He is the very Janus of poets; he wears almost everywhere two faces; and you have scarce begun to admire the one, ere you despise the other.
Inspire the Vocal Brass, Inspire; The World is past its Infant Age: Arms and Honour, Arms and Honour, Set the Martial Mind on Fire, And kindle Manly Rage.
And he, who servilely creeps after sense, Is safe, but ne'er will reach an excellence.
To draw true beauty shows a master's hand.
When Misfortune is asleep, let no one wake her.
The unhappy man, who once has trail'd a pen, Lives not to please himself, but other men; Is always drudging, wastes his life and blood, Yet only eats and drinks what you think good.
Ill news is wing'd with fate, and flies apace.
Having mourned your sin, for outward Eden lost, find paradise within.
The good we have enjoyed from Heaven's free will, and shall we murmur to endure the ill?
Damn'd neuters, in their middle way of steering, Are neither fish, nor flesh, nor good red herring.
As poetry is the harmony of words, so music is that of notes.
Either be wholly slaves or wholly free.
Even victors are by victories undone.
My love's a noble madness.
The first is the law, the last prerogative.
Beauty is nothing else but a just accord and mutual harmony of the members, animated by a healthful constitution.
Raw in the fields the rude militia swarms, Mouth without hands; maintained at vast expense, In peace a charge, in war a weak defence.
And after hearing what our Church can say, If still our reason runs another way, That private reason 'tis more just to curb, Than by disputes the public peace disturb; For points obscure are of small use to learn, But common quiet is mankind's concern.
The fortitude of a Christian consists in patience, not in enterprises which the poets call heroic, and which are commonly the effects of interest, pride and worldly honor.
But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
Successful crimes alone are justified.
Restless at home, and ever prone to range.
For danger levels man and brute And all are fellows in their need.
Ill fortune seldom comes alone.
A satirical poet is the check of the laymen on bad priests.
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