The Poetical Works of John Dryden, 2. köide

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Little, Brown, & Company; Shepard, Clark & Brown, 1859
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Page 238 - Nay, let thy men of wit, too, be the same, All full of thee, and differing but in name. But let no alien Sedley interpose, To lard with wit thy hungry Epsom prose.
Page 126 - But, gracious God ! how well dost thou provide For erring judgments an unerring guide ! Thy throne is darkness in the' abyss of light, A blaze of glory that forbids the sight.
Page 267 - tis impossible you should proceed. Already I am worn with cares and age, And just abandoning the ungrateful stage : Unprofitably kept at Heaven's expense, I live a rent-charge on His providence : But you, whom every Muse and grace adorn, Whom I foresee to better fortune born. Be kind to my remains; and oh, defend, Against your judgment, your departed friend! Let not the insulting foe my fame pursue, But shade those laurels which descend to you : And take for tribute what these lines express; You...
Page 87 - ... goodness can Extend the merits of that Son to man ? Who knows what reasons may his mercy lead, Or ignorance invincible may plead ? Not only charity bids hope the best, But more the great apostle has...
Page 233 - Through all the realms of Nonsense, absolute. This aged prince, now flourishing in peace, And blest with issue of a large increase...
Page 288 - Still showed a quickness; and maturing time But mellows what we write to the dull sweets of rhyme. Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou young, But ah, too short, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around.
Page 126 - Follow'd false lights; and when their glimpse was gone, My pride struck out new sparkles of her own. Such was I, such by nature still I am; Be thine the glory, and be mine the shame. Good life be now my task; my doubts are done: What more could fright my faith, than Three in One?
Page 233 - Shadwell alone, of all my sons, is he Who stands confirm'd in full stupidity : The rest to some faint meaning make pretence, But Shadwell never deviates into sense.
Page 240 - 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 mayest wings display and altars raise,* And torture one poor word ten thousand ways.
Page 238 - Amen'. Then thus continued he, 'My son, advance Still in new impudence, new ignorance. Success let others teach, learn thou from me Pangs without birth, and fruitless industry. Let Virtuosos in five years be writ; Yet not one thought accuse thy toil of wit.

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