To groan and sweat under a load of wit?
But that the tread of steep Parnassus’ hill
That undiscover’d country, with whose bays
Few travellers return, puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear to live unknown
Than run the hazard to be known and damn’d.
Thus Critics do make cowards of us all;
And thus the healthful face of many a poem
Is sicklied o’er with a pale manuscript;
And enterprisers of great fire and spirit,