This Booke When Brasse and Marble fade, shall make thee looke Fresh to all Ages.

Few of the university pen plaies well, they smell too much of that writer Ovid and that writer Metamorphosis and talk too much of Prosperpina and Jupiter. Why, here's our fellow Shakespeare puts them all down. Aye, and Ben Jonson too. O that B.J. is a pestilent fellow, he brought up Horace giving poets a pill, but our fellow, Shakespeare, hath given him a purge that made him beray his credit.

Go thou, deceased, to this earth which is a mother, and spacious and kind. May her touch be soft like that of wool, or a young woman, and may she protect thee from the depths of destruction. Rise above him, O Earth, do not press painfully on him, give him good things, give him consolation, as a mother covers her child with her cloth, cover thou him.

In the day, do the day's work.

The tongue of a man is his sword and effective speech is stronger than all fighting.

When I have been indulging this thought I have, in imagination, seen the Britons of some future century, walking by the banks of the Thames, then overgrown with weeds and almost impassable with rubbish. The father points to his son where stood St. Paul's, the Monument, the Bank, the Mansion House, and other places of the first distinction.