| C.N. Douglas, comp. Forty Thousand Quotations: Prose and Poetical. 1917. | | | | Sir John Davies |
| | | | 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. |
| 1 |
| | There was a man bespake a thing, |
| 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 not know |
| Whether he hath it yea or no. |
| 2 |
| | These wickets of the soul are plac’d so high, |
| Because all sounds do highly move aloft; |
| And that they may not pierce too violently, |
| They are delay’d with turns and twinings oft. |
| For should the voice directly strike the brain, |
| It would astonish and confuse it much; |
| Therefore these plaits and folds the sound restrain. |
| That it the organ may more gently touch. |
| 3 |
| | This is the slowest, yet the daintiest sense; |
| For ev’n the ears of such as have no skill, |
| Perceive a discord, and conceive offence; |
| And knowing not what’s good, yet find the ill. |
| 4 |
| Wit,—the pupil of the soul’s clear eye. | 5 | | |
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