As Poetry Is The Harmony Of Words,

War Is A Trade Of Kings.

A Thing Well Said Will Be Wit In All Languages.

Trust On And Think To-morrow Will Repay; To-morrow's Falser Than The Former Day; Lies Worse; And While It Says, We Shall Be Blest With Some New Joys, Cuts Off What We Possest.

Dancing Is The Poetry Of The Foot.

I Am Reading Jonson's Verses To The Memory Of Shakespeare; An Insolent, Sparing, And Invidious Panegyric.