"What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones,The labor of an age in pilèd stones,Or that his hallowed relics should be hidUnder a star-y-pointing pyramid?Dear son of memory, great heir of fame,What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name?"

“So little care they of beasts to make them men, that by their sorcerous doctrine of formalities, they take the way to transform them out of Christian men into judaizing beasts. Had they but taught the land, or suffered it to be taught, as Christ would it should have been in all plenteous dispensation of the word, then the poor mechanic might have so accustomed his ear to good teaching, as to have discerned between faithful teachers and false. But now, with a most inhuman cruelty, they who have put out the people's eyes, reproach them of their blindness; just as the Pharisees their true fathers were wont, who could not endure that the people should be thought competent judges of Christ's doctrine, although we know they judged far better than those great rabbis: yet “this people,” said they, “that know not the law is accursed.””

“By labor and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life), joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to after-times, as they should not willingly let it die.”

“Where the bright seraphim in burning rowTheir loud uplifted angel trumpets blow.”

“O nightingale, that on yon bloomy sprayWarbl'st at eve, when all the woods are still.”

“Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race:Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours,Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace;And glut thyself with what thy womb devours,Which is no more than what is false and vain,And merely mortal dross.”

“Under the shady roofOf branching elm star-proof.”