Beware The Fury Of A

Imagination In A Poet Is A Faculty So Wild And Lawless That, Like A High Ranging Spaniel, It Must Have Clogs Tied To It, Lest It Outrun The Judgment. The Great Easiness Of Blank Verse Renders The Poet Too Luxuriant. He Is Tempted To Say Many Things Which Might Better Be Omitted, Or, At Least Shut Up In Fewer Words.

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

Honor Is But An Empty Bubble.

Chaucer Followed Nature Everywhere, But Was Never So Bold To Go Beyond Her.

When Beauty Fires The Blood, How Love Exalts The Mind!