A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth. - John Dryden

Earth has no fury like love to hatred turn'd
Nor hell a fury like a woman scorn'd

A brave man scorns to quarrel once a day;
Like Hectors in at every petty fray.

The midwife laid her hand on his thick skull,
With this prophetic blessing — Be thou dull; 60
Drink, swear, and roar, forbear no lewd delight
Fit for thy bulk, do anything but write.
Thou art of lasting make, like thoughtless men,
A strong nativity — but for the pen;
Eat opium, mingle arsenic in thy drink, 65
Still thou mayest live, avoiding pen and ink.
I see, I see, ’tis counsel given in vain,
For treason, botched in rhyme, will be thy bane;
Rhyme is the rock on which thou art to wreck,
’Tis fatal to thy fame and to thy neck.