But Flies An Eagle Flight,

Promising Is The Very Air O' Th' Time; It Opens The Eyes Of Expectation. Performance Is Ever Duller For His Act; And, But In The Plainer And Simpler Kind Of People, The Deed Of Saying Is Quite Out Of Use. To Promise Is Most Courtly And Fashionable; Performance Is A Kind Of Will Or Testament Which Argues A Great Sickness In His Judgment That Makes It.

It Easeth Some, Though None It Ever Cured, To Think Their Dolour Others Have Endured.

Sweet Recreation Barred, What Doth Ensue But Moody And Dull Melancholy, Kinsman To Grim And Comfortless Despair.

There Are A Sort Of Men, Whose Visages Do Cream And Mantle, Like A Standing Pond; And Do A Willful Stillness Entertain, With Purpose To Be Dressed In An Opinion Of Wisdom, Gravity Profound Conceit; As Who Should Say, I Am Sir Oracle, And When I Ope My Lips, Let No Dog Bark!

Wilt Thou Whip Thine Own Faults In Other Men?