Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite: "Fool!" said my muse to me, "look in thy heart, and write."
With a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you; with a tale which holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney corner.
Shallow brooks murmur most, deep and silent slide away.
Sweet food of sweetly uttered knowledge.
It is the nature of the strong heart, that like the palm tree it strives ever upwards when it is most burdened.
Come, Sleep! O Sleep, the certain knot of peace, The baiting-place of wit, the balm of woe, The poor man's wealth, the prisoner's release, Th' indifferent judge between the high and low.
To be rhymed to death as is said to be done in Ireland.
It is great happiness to be praised of them who are most praiseworthy.
