"Ah Ben! Say how, or when Shall we thy Guests Meet at those Lyrick Feasts, Made at the Sun, The Dog, the triple Tunne? Where we such clusters had, As made us nobly wild, not mad; And yet each Verse of thine Out-did the Meate, out-did the Frolick wine.
My Ben Or come agen: Or send to us, Thy wits great over-plus; But teach us yet Wisely to husband it; Lest we that Tallent spend: And having once brought to an end That precious stock; and store Of such a wit the world sho'd have no more." - Poem: "An Ode for him"
"Gather ye rose-buds while ye may, old Time is still a-flying: And this same flower that smiles today, tomorrow will be dying. "
"Conquer we shall, but, we must first contend! It's not the fight that crowns us, but the end. "
"Tears are the noble language of the eye."
"It is the will that makes the action good or ill."