—While the Plebeian Imp, from lofty throne,
Creates and rules a world, and works upon
Mankind by secret engines; now to move
A chilling pity, then a rigorous love:
To strike up and stroke down, both joy and ire;
To steer th’ affections; and by heavenly fire
Mould us anew. Stol’n from ourselves—
This, and much more which cannot be express’d,
But by himself, his tongue and his own breast,
Was Shakespeare’s freehold, which his cunning brain