Farewell, Too Little, And Too

Is It Not Evident, In These Last Hundred Years (when The Study Of Philosophy Has Been The Business Of All The Virtuosi In Christendome) That Almost A New Nature Has Been Revealed To Us? That More Errours Of The School Have Been Detected, More Useful Experiments In Philosophy Have Been Made, More Noble Secrets In Opticks, Medicine, Anatomy, Astronomy, Discover'd, Than In All Those Credulous And Doting Ages From Aristotle To Us? So True It Is That Nothing Spreads More Fast Than Science, When Rightly And Generally Cultivated.

So Softly Death Succeeded Life In Her, She Did But Dream Of Heaven, And She Was There.

Learn To Write Well, Or Not To Write At All.

He Was The Man Who Of All Modern, And Perhaps Ancient Poets, Had The Largest And Most Comprehensive Soul. . . . He Was Naturally Learn'd; He Needed Not The Spectacles Of Books To Read Nature; He Looked Inwards, And Found Her There. . . . He Is Many Times Flat, Insipid; His Comic Wit Degenerating In To Clenches, His Serious Swelling Into Bombast. But He Is Always Great, When Some Occasion Is Presented To Him.

These Are The Effects Of Doting Age,--vain Doubts And Idle Cares And Over Caution.