Tis the mind that makes the body rich.

But earthlier happy is the rose distill’d Than that which withering on

Tis best to weigh the enemy more mighty than he seems.

Put forth thy hand, reach at the glorious gold.

A thousand kisses buys my heart from me; And pay them at thy leisure, one by one.

O God, that men should put an enemy in their mouths to

If thou dost seek to have what thou dost hide, By self-example mayst thou be denied.

The lunatic, the lover, and the poet, are of imagination all compact.