“All things that move between the quiet polesShall be at my command. Emperors and kingsAre but obey'd in their several provinces,Nor can they raise the wind, or rend the clouds;But his dominion that exceeds in thisStretcheth as far as doth the mind of man!A sound magician is a mighty god.”

“That like I best that flies beyond my reach.Set me to scale the high pyramids And thereon set the diadem of France;I'll either rend it with my nails to nought,Or mount the top with my aspiring wings,Although my downfall be the deepest hell.”

“We which were Ovids five books, now are three,For these before the rest preferreth he:If reading five thou plainst of tediousnesse,Two tane away, thy labor will be lesse:With Muse upreard I meant to sing of armes,Choosing a subject fit for feirse alarmes:Both verses were alike till Love (men say)Began to smile and tooke one foote away.Rash boy, who gave thee power to change a line?We are the Muses prophets, none of thine.What if thy Mother take Dianas bowe,Shall Dian fanne when love begins to glowe?In wooddie groves ist meete that Ceres Raigne,And quiver bearing Dian till the plaine:Who'le set the faire treste sunne in battell ray,While Mars doth take the Aonian harpe to play?Great are thy kingdomes, over strong and large,Ambitious Imp, why seekst thou further charge?Are all things thine? the Muses Tempe thine?Then scarse can Phoebus say, this harpe is mine.When in this workes first verse I trod aloft,Love slackt my Muse, and made my numbers soft.I have no mistris, nor no favorit,Being fittest matter for a wanton wit,Thus I complaind, but Love unlockt his quiver,Tooke out the shaft, ordaind my hart to shiver:And bent his sinewy bow upon his knee,Saying, Poet heers a worke beseeming thee.Oh woe is me, he never shootes but hits,I burne, love in my idle bosome sits.Let my first verse be sixe, my last five feete,Fare well sterne warre, for blunter Poets meete.Elegian Muse, that warblest amorous laies,Girt my shine browe with sea banke mirtle praise.-- P. Ovidii Nasonis AmorumLiber PrimusELEGIA 1(Quemadmodum a Cupidine, pro bellis amores scribere coactus sit)”

“Unhappy Persia, that in former age Hast been the seat of mighty Conquerors,That in their prowesse and their policies, Have triumph over Africa.”

“Mephistopheles: Within the bowels of these elements,Where we are tortured and remain forever.Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribedIn one self place, for where we are is hell,And where hell is must we ever be.And, to conclude, when all the world dissolves,And every creature shall be purified,All places shall be hell that is not heaven.”

“Nay, could their numbers countervail the stars,Or ever-drizzling drops of April showers,Or wither'd leaves that autumn shaketh down,Yet would the Soldan by his conquering powerSo scatter and consume them in his rage, That not a man should live to rue their fall.”

“The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike”