The World To Bacon Does Not Only

Time Glides With Undiscover'd Haste; The Future But A Length Behind The Past.

Pains Of Love Be Sweeter Far Than All Other Pleasures Are.

For Every Inch That Is Not Fool, Is Rogue.

And, Dying, Bless The Hand That Gave The Blow.

Railing In Other Men May Be A Crime, But Ought To Pass For Mere Instinct In Him: Instinct He Follows And No Further Knows, For To Write Verse With Him Is To Transprose.