Since honour from the honourer proceeds

England is the paradise of women, the purgatory of men, and the hell of horses.

How poor remembrances are statues, tombs, And other monuments that men erect To princes, which remain in closèd rooms Where but a few behold them, in respect Of Books, that to the universal eye Show how they lived; the other where they lie!

This book for men alone is meant, Book-worms, or bibliophiles anent, Of solid mind, of serious bent, On curious, hidden books intent, On odd research and learning.

No book exists, however bad, From which some good may not be had.

When I survey the bright Celestial sphere; So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:My soul her wings doth spread And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read

For him delicious flavors dwell In books as in old Muscatel.