We grant, although he had much wit, He was very shy of using it. - Samuel Butler

And weave fine cobwebs, fit for skull That's empty when the moon is full; Such as take lodgings in a head That's to be let unfurnished.

This Light inspires, and plays upon The nose of Saint like Bag-pipe drone, And speaks through hollow empty Soul, As through a Trunk, or whisp'ring hole, Such language as no mortal Ear But spiritual Eve-droppers can hear.

As the ancients
Say wisely, have a care o' th' main chance,
And look before you ere you leap;
For as you sow, ye are like to reap.