The World To Bacon Does Not Only

Bold Knaves Thrive Without One Grain Of Sense, But Good Men Starve For Want Of Impudence.

And Plenty Makes Us Poor.

When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her Head, He Joys To Pull The Ripened Pear.

Mere Poets Are Sottish As Mere Drunkards Are, Who Live In A Continual Mist, Without Seeing Or Judging Anything Clearly. A Man Should Be Learned In Several Sciences, And Should Have A Reasonable, Philosophical And In Some Measure A Mathematical Head, To Be A Complete And Excellent Poet.

Nature Meant Me A Wife, A Silly, Harmless, Household Dove, Fond Without Art, And Kind Without Deceit.