"Thus with the year Seasons return, but not to me returns Day, or the sweet approach of Eev'n or Morn, Or sight of vernal bloom, or Summer's Rose, Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine."

"Such as the world has known, in all her pomp, her pride, and her oppression."

"He who hath light within his own clear breast May sit i'th' center, and enjoy bright day: But he that hides a dark soul, and foul thoughts Benighted walks under the mid-day sun; Himself his own dungeo…"

"God doth not need either man's work or his own gifts; who best bear his mild yoke, they serve him best."

"I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and seeks her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for, …"