Book ii

. Line 95._

The monster London laugh at me.

_Of Solitude, xi._

Let but thy wicked men from out thee go, And all the fools that crowd thee so, Even thou, who dost thy millions boast, A village less than Islington wilt grow, A solitude almost.

_Of Solitude, vii._

The fairest garden in her looks, And in her mind the wisest books.

_The Garden, i._

God the first garden made, and the first city Cain.[261-3]

_The Garden, ii._

Hence, ye profane! I hate ye all, Both the great vulgar and the small.

_Horace. Book iii . Ode 1._

Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.[262-1]

_Virgil, Georgics.