I am sore wounded but not slain
I will lay me down and bleed a while
And then rise up to fight again
Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow;
He who would search for pearls, must dive below.
But far more numerous was the herd of such,
Who think too little, and who talk too much.
For you may palm upon us new for old:
All, as they say, that glitters, is not gold.
Dreams are but interludes, which fancy makes;
When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes.
We first make our habits, then our habits make us.
Thus like a Captive in an Isle confin'd,
Man walks at large, a Pris'ner of the Mind