The Poetical Works of John Dryden

G. Routledge and Sons, 1869 - 524 sivua

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Sivu 82 - A man so various that he seemed to be Not one, but all mankind's epitome: Stiff in opinions, always in the wrong, Was everything by starts, and nothing long; But, in the course of one revolving moon, Was chymist, fiddler, statesman, and buffoon; Then all for women, painting, rhyming, drinking, Besides ten thousand freaks that died in thinking.
Sivu 503 - tis too late to retreat. The soft complaining Flute In dying notes discovers The woes of hopeless lovers, Whose dirge is whisper'd by the warbling Lute. Sharp Violins proclaim Their jealous pangs, and desperation, Fury, frantic indignation, Depth of pains, and height of passion, For the fair disdainful dame.
Sivu 504 - But oh ! what art can teach, What human voice can reach The sacred organ's praise ? Notes inspiring holy love, Notes that wing their heavenly ways To mend the choirs above.
Sivu 501 - War, he sung, is toil and trouble ; Honour but an empty bubble ; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying : If the world be worth thy winning, Think, oh think it worth enjoying ! Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee.
Sivu 502 - At last divine Cecilia came, Inventress of the vocal frame ; The sweet enthusiast, from her sacred store, Enlarg'd the former narrow bounds, And added length to solemn sounds, With nature's mother-wit, and arts unknown before. Let old Timotheus yield the prize, Or both divide the crown ; He raised a mortal to the skies, She drew an angel down.
Sivu 268 - FAREWELL, too little and too lately known, Whom I began to think and call my own: For sure our souls were near allied, and thine Cast in the same poetic mould with mine. One common note on either lyre did strike, And knaves and fools we both abhorred alike.
Sivu 154 - Nor let false friends seduce thy mind to fame By arrogating Jonson's hostile name; Let father Flecknoe fire thy mind with praise And uncle Ogleby thy envy raise. Thou art my blood, where Jonson has no part; What share have we in nature or in art? Where did his wit on learning fix a brand And rail at arts he did not understand? Where made he love in Prince Nicander's vein Or swept the dust in Psyche's humble strain? Where sold he bargains, "whipstitch, kiss my arse", Promised a play and dwindled to...
Sivu 155 - In thy felonious heart though venom lies. It does but touch thy Irish pen, and dies. Thy genius calls thee not to purchase fame In keen iambics, but mild anagram. Leave writing plays, and choose for thy command Some peaceful province in acrostic land, There thou mayst wings display and altars raise. And torture one poor word ten thousand ways. Or, if thou would'st thy diffrent talents suit. Set thy own songs, and sing them to thy lute.
Sivu 150 - All human things are subject to decay, And, when Fate summons, monarchs must obey: This Flecknoe found, who, like Augustus, young Was call'd to empire, and had govern'd long: In prose and verse, was own'd, without dispute Through all the realms of Non-sense, absolute.
Sivu 153 - tis sung, by Tyber's brook, Presage of sway from twice six vultures took. The admiring throng loud acclamations make, And omens of his future empire take. The sure then shook the honours of his head, And from his brows damps of oblivion shed Full on the filial...

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