O, For An Engine, To Keep Back

Language Most Shows A Man, Speak That I May See Thee.

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 .

Thy Praise Or Dispraise Is To Me Alike; One Doth Not Stroke Me, Nor The Other Strike.

He Who Is Taught Only By Himself Has A Fool For A Master.

Books Are Faithful Repositories, Which May Be Awhile Neglected Or Forgotten, But When They Are Opened Again, Will Again Impart Their Instruction.