Youth, what man's age is like to be, doth show; We may our ends by our beginnings know.
Learn to live well, that thou may'st die so too; To live and die is all we have to do.
Poetry is of so subtle a spirit, that in the pouring out of one language into another it will evaporate.
Such subtle covenants shall be made, Till peace itself is war in masquerade.
Two gates the silent house of Sleep adorn; Of polished ivory this, that of transparent horn: True visions through transparent horn arise; Through polished ivory pass deluding lies.
The sun, when he from noon declines, And with abated heat less fiercely shines; seems to grow milder as he goes away.
Set all things in their own peculiar place, And know that order is the greatest grace.
Presence of mind, and courage in distress, Are more than armies to procure success.
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