John Dryden (/ˈdraɪdən/; 19 August [O.S. 9 August] 1631 – 12 May [O.S. 1 May] 1700) was an English poet, literary critic, translator, and playwright who was made England's first Poet Laureate in 1668.
Men are but children of a larger growth, Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain.
To draw true beauty shows a master's hand.
Arts and sciences in one and the same century have arrived at great perfection; and no wonder, since every age has a kind of universal genius, which inclines those that live in it to some particular studies; the work then, being pushed on by many hands, must go forward.
Let grace and goodness be the principal loadstone of thy affections. For love which hath ends, will have an end; whereas that which is founded on true virtue, will always continue.
Heaven be thanked, we live in such an age, When no man dies for love, but on the stage.
She feared no danger, for she knew no sin.
And, dying, bless the hand that gave the blow.
The province of the soul is large enough to fill up every cranny of your time, and leave you much to answer for if one wretch be damned by your neglect.
How easy it is to call rogue and villain, and that wittily! But how hard to make a man appear a fool, a blockhead, or a knave, without using any of those opprobrious terms! Tosparethegrossness ofthenames, and to dothe thing yet moreseverely, isto drawa full face, and tomake the nose and cheeks stand out, and yet not to employ any depth of shadowing.
But wild Ambition loves to slide, not stand, And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
When he spoke, what tender words he used! So softly, that like flakes of feathered snow, They melted as they fell.
While I am compassed round With mirth, my soul lies hid in shades of grief, Whence, like the bird of night, with half-shut eyes, She peeps, and sickens at the sight of day.
Love reckons hours for months, and days for years; and every little absence is an age.
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
A thing well said will be wit in all languages.
And after hearing what our Church can say, If still our reason runs another way, That private reason 'tis more just to curb, Than by disputes the public peace disturb; For points obscure are of small use to learn, But common quiet is mankind's concern.
How blessed is he, who leads a country life, Unvex'd with anxious cares, and void of strife! Who studying peace, and shunning civil rage, Enjoy'd his youth, and now enjoys his age: All who deserve his love, he makes his own; And, to be lov'd himself, needs only to be known.
Men's virtues I have commended as freely as I have taxed their crimes.
I am as free as nature first made man, Ere the base laws of servitude began, When wild in woods the noble savage ran.
And that the Scriptures, though not everywhere Free from corruption, or entire, or clear, Are uncorrupt, sufficient, clear, entire In all things which our needful faith require.