Zeal without knowledge is the sister of folly.

Deeds are males, words females are.

For what made that in glory shine so long But poets' Pens, pluckt from Archangels' wings?

Much like a subtle spider, which doth sit In middle of her web, which spreadeth wide: If aught do touch the utmost thread of it, She feels it instantly on every side.

There was a man bespake a think, Which when the owner home did bring, He that made it did refuse it: And he that brought it would not use it, And he that hath it doth now know Whether he hath it yea or no.

The mind contracts herself and shrinketh in, And to herself she gladly doth retire.