The Works of John Dryden: Now First Collected in Eighteen Volumes, Volume 5

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A. Constable & Company, 1821
 

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Page 171 - tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: To-morrow's falser than the former day; Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Page 321 - Errors like Straws upon the surface flow; He who would search for Pearls must dive below.
Page 354 - I'm eager to return before I go; For, all the pleasures I have known beat thick On my remembrance. — How I long for night! That both the sweets of mutual love may try, And triumph once o'er Caesar ere we die.
Page 170 - Tis much more hard to please himself than you ; And, out of no feigned modesty, this day Damns his laborious trifle of a play ; Not that it's worse than what before he writ, But he has now another taste of wit ; And, to confess a truth, though out of time, Grows weary of his long-loved mistress, Rhyme. Passion's too fierce to be in fetters bound, And Nature flies him like enchanted ground...
Page 411 - tis observed of every scribbling man, He grows a fop as fast as e'er he can ; Prunes up, and asks his oracle, the glass, If pink or purple best become his face. For our poor wretch, he neither rails nor prays; Nor likes your wit just as you like his plays; He has not yet so much of Mr.
Page 354 - I'll rather die, than take it. Will you go? Ant. Go ! Whither ? Go from all that's excellent ! Faith, honour, virtue, all good things forbid, That I should go from her, who sets my love Above the price of kingdoms.
Page 380 - Unmark'd of those that hear. Then she's so charming, Age buds at sight of her, and swells to youth: The holy priests gaze on her when she smiles, And with heav'd hands, forgetting gravity, They bless her wanton eyes: even I, who hate her, With a malignant joy behold such beauty, And, while I curse, desire it.
Page 361 - That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, But hung upon the object : To soft flutes The silver oars kept time ; and while they played, The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight ; And both to thought.
Page 407 - With them, the wreath of victory I made (Vain augury!) for him who now lies dead. You, Iras, bring the cure of all our ills.
Page 323 - On the utmost margin of the water-mark. Then, with so swift an ebb the flood drove backward, It slipt from underneath the scaly herd : Here monstrous phocaa panted on the shore ; Forsaken dolphins there, with their broad tails Lay lashing the departing waves : hard by them, Sea-horses' flound'ring in the slimy mud, Toss'd up their heads, and dash'd the ooze about them.

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