Whatever else he may do, a critic reveals and criticises himself

Know, Nature, like the cuckoo, laughs at law, Placing her eggs in whatso nest she will.

Friendship craves The commerce of the mind, not the exchange Of emulous feasts that foster sycophants.

Then, without toil, by vale and mountain side, Men found their few and simple wants supplied; Plenty, like dew, dropped subtle from the air, And Earth's fair gifts rose prodigal as prayer. Love, with no charms except its own to lure, Was …

Let your house Be spacious more than splendid, and be books And busts your most conspicuous furniture.

And Clara dies that Claribel may dance.

Friendship, 'tis said, is love without his wings, And friendship, sir, is sweet enough for me.